by J J Cohen
That title sounds so Eileen Joy, doesn't it? It isn't, but is stolen from her verbal doppelganger Wallace Stevens.
An early plane tomorrow whisks me to Fort Lauderdale, where I rendezvous with my brother and we drive the rest of the way to Key West. You know how I am drawn to the Caribbean, and this is as close as you can get from the US.
So, no blogging from me in quite a while. I will be communing with the ghosts of Hemingway, Stevens, Frost, Bishop, Margarita, Tequila...
What, no muddled mojitos and resulting muddled posts? Hemingway would be disgusted.
(Unless there's a plan for daiquiris. Since you're in Florida and all...)
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