The day Humphrey Bogart died we were eating corn flakes in the dining room of a one-armed pig hauler in Guadalajara where we rented a room.My mother pushed away from the table, went to our room and didn't come out for 3 days.
The pig hauler and his family wondered uneasily when this strange American family was going to finally leave.
2 comments:
Oh, I've got the novel written. I've just been stumped by the first sentences. Thanks for the tip.
That would be "gotten. I've gotten the novel written". Let's just say it's writ.
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