A Palimpsest Has No Use For A Bridge
Entry 1 The Bar In Which My Father Drank Himself To Death In 1969. Years ago I knew a woman who was around my age of 22 or so. She was in love with her professor, but apparently there were no strings at the time. I was fascinated by this woman, so foreign to this working class boy. She had gone to Boston Latin, and Bard College, her parents were two very famous and influential Marxist philospophers when that kind of thing still meant something. They summered in the south of France. She got almost all her clothes from J. Crew, a company of which I hadn't heard of before. As I recall, she liked me AND was very into the woman I was dating at the time (her roommate, who liked women but not her), despite her love for the geriatric professor of poetry. I took this woman out for a beer once or twice. I recall telling her my dream was to grow my hair long, get my college degree and drink at the Blue Moon Tavern (whether I meant it or not, isn't material). We were walking to the Blu...
