Colleagues, I hope you'll agree that it was daring, if not reckless, for yr lariat to send a Master of such Reserve and Reticence a poem beginning FUCK MILK! OK, so maybe a couple rhymes are over the top, but I know Rte 1 and Duval Street pretty well too. One time when Alan and I sailed some young friends down there they bought us two tee shirts. Mine was a Key West Salvage shirt that said "The floggings will continue until the morale improves," which I stole for "Mr. Christian's Diary" in VFN. (I also wore it the first time we took Dick sailing, and it cracked him up. Alan's said "It's not a bald spot. It's a solar panel for a sex machine." I chose two of these poems for their uncanny sense of place, or rather multiple senses of place, Michael's and Henry's.
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