in such aridity that it is impossible to draw forth one single thought to unite me with Godin a ferment over your bookin an environmental place right nowin such a condition that I am almost unfit for business in a similar state to the Spectator's when he is in the Stock Exchangein one of those reality warps, like cheese that smells of smelly socksin no condition to fully recognize what those particular words arein a bad way, Benjaminin a bad way about Eustacein the habit of running programsin that position for soul fishin in tha depths of hell but when i'm walking on tha street kid my name rings bellsin touch with the store-consciousnessin the same bucket as Cliff Richard
