He’s so anxious, and he is always screwing up. He hollers and bounces off the wall. Need I tell you how strongly I identify with Grover? I was in a cafe today and I read a Grover poem in a Little Golden Book:
when my imagination
takes me by the mind
it leads me so far, so fast
my body’s left behind
yet that’s when I am most myself
lost in wish and dream
and coming back, I smile and think
“I’m more than I might seem.”
While I was reading it, Tom Jones was howling “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” on the piped-in music.
P.S. Lately I have been feeling uneasy about working for a Firm and squandering all my dough on likker and gewgaws, especially the way I ignore panhandlers. So I have volunteered to become a Big Sister. I know you people think I am inherently incapable of anything approaching sincerity, but I really want to give some time and take a kid to the library, and rollerskating, and listen to her problems.
Oh Shut Up.
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