The Letter, 9 Jan 2022
If Kurt Vonnegut felt like an armless, legless man writing with a crayon in his mouth, where does that leave the rest of us?
Welcome to The Letter! I’m writing this on a beautiful 30-degree day, in my dark purple office, in a smidgen of time squished between the end of work and the baby witching hour. I’ve got to be quick!
In today’s letter, I ponder the nature of Mess.
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