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letters about the dead boy (written to no one in particular, sent into the ether)

I love the way he leans so far back when he drives, how his right hand holds the steering wheel and his left hand hangs down below the side of his seat. He never grips the wheel tight or leans forward to check for cross traffic, and he doesn’t stop the car to roll a joint – he can do it with one hand. His whole body reflects a kind of fearlessness or fatalism, a condition to which I aspire but never achieve.

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This page contains a single entry from the blog posted on April 25, 2003 5:56 AM.

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