12-11-2018, 02:23 AM
Well, I could go on and on about my crises. But I'll spare you, and start with last night. A guy came to my room and we were going to go ice fishing. Because it snowed real big yesterday. And to get ready I sat and chugged two bottles of wine, to get warm, you know? And he noticed that I had three black and white photographs on my desk. Yes, I have a desk. That's about all I have. One of Vivien Leigh, one of Hart Crane, and one of Robert Johnson. He asked me why I had that photograph of that black guy, and I said, That's Robert Johnson, he sold his soul to the Devil at the crossroads to learn to play the blues. (Not that he needed to, the blues is a pretty universal set of feelings.) And he was disturbed. He said it was a very disturbing story. I said I thought it was a beautiful story. But I didn't convince. . . . I know I didn't answer your question at all, Ally; but if you want me to be more specific, you just have to ask. I've learned my lesson about volunteering information. It rightly goes against my favor.