My Raymond Carver collection has gone missing, or has run away from me. I came home from the library, to a peg missing on our porch, the very peg my bike was locked to. Guess what:
It’s a time like this I am comforted by the Lutheran messages I’ve been going to on Sundays, where the wrath of God is told, His massacres, His firing of cities, by the minister, and when finished, without fail, us- the congregation- say “Praise be to God” in unison. I mean it when I name comfort, for this is such a punk tragedy of belittling importance.
