In Order To Write About

I Felt The Death Loneliness That Comes At The End Of Every Day That Is Wasted In Your Life.

To Me Heaven Would Be A Big Bull Ring With Me Holding Two Barrera Seats And A Trout Stream Outside That No One Else Was Allowed To Fish In And Two Lovely Houses In The Town; One Where I Would Have My Wife And Children And Be Monogamous And Love Them Truly And Well And The Other Where I Would Have My Nine Beautiful Mistresses On Nine Different Floors.

I Decided That I Would Write One Story About Each Thing That I Knew About.

Retirement Is The Ugliest Word In The Language.

So This Was How You Died, In Whispers That You Did Not Hear.