| Monday, May 13, 2002 |
 | Sorry. Away. In Brighton. Having fun. More chunky Venusberg goodness soon, but for now some mad props for my homies:
The first of us to go was Robert, who passed his last week by reciting every object in his New York apartment in exacting detail. The way a teacup felt cupped in his fingers, the warmth of a glass paperweight by the window. The cracked window panes. The sheepskin rug.
Brooke has a writing style that might fittingly be described as pathological. It makes me tingly in a wrong way. Bonus points for use of the word "marasmus" also. Check out what the dead remember here.
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