“YOU’RE NOT A DOCTOR, YOU’RE A VAGRANT” HE LAUGHED AS SECURITY DRAGGED ME AWAY BUT BY SUNRISE HE WAS ON HIS KNEES BEGGING FOR FORGIVENESS — HOW MANY GENIUSES ARE WE SLEEPING ON?
Part 2: The Longest Night I sat on that folded blanket beneath the overpass until the sun climbed high and the shade retreated to a narrow strip against the concrete abutment. The leather journal lay open on my knees, the pages warm from my skin. I traced the diagram I had drawn twenty-three years ago…
