ONLY A DREAM

ONLY A DREAM, YES IT WAS, YES IT WAS

You must forgive me darling, as I've been to West Africa and became lost in its despair. The work was daunting to the extent that my exhaustion was a comfort to me. I haven't written for the Post in months as there were things so evil I was witness to, events so horrific and pain so tragic that my love and passion for all things, yes darling, even writing became nonexistent. I no longer cared for, as the American's say, "The ballgame of life". I lost Andrea, the gloves, the silliness of all the people who had cluttered my mind and perhaps at times had charmed me. The tragedy of My Africa left me standing cold in it's heat and oppression. I cried a bloody Sunday every waking dirty day.

My heart is worn.

Darling, I'm on the train headed for Spain in all I have left of my once dashing, elegant and extrodinary outfits for the parties and gayness of life. My dirty jodhupurs, scuffed brown boots and favorite starched white shirt are all that's left of what I once smiled in. Well, you know me, despair may overcome me, but my love for the finest of white shirts will always remain.

I may hop over to the isle of Ireland, weather permitting.