I’m in Mexico. There’s a tree here called “the rain of gold. ” We took the tunnel under Pablo Neruda Blvd. The columns were ancient. Blooms of lust. I finished “The Slave” on the plane. I was in tears. The young woman next to me: “It’s okay. Everything is meant to be.” I just wolfed down some cubes of jicama, watermelon and papaya. I am drifting. My dreams are filled with cows, barbed wire and a lithe warrior maiden. She is the walls of eternity burning on every side.

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