Kurt Vonnegut died. The first book I read of his was Slaughterhouse Five when I was in college. I read it in one sitting while tripping on acid one night. For a long time I was a big fan. I reread his Breakfast of Champions, one of my favorites, last fall. It had not lost any of its glitter.
He had a unique voice. How many people can say that? His voice oozed acid. He is one of those people who made me wish I could learn how to write.
Let’s not get started on writing at this early hour of the morning. I hope you are sleeping well. I ain’t.