Chapter 28: Epilogue
Judgement in the parking lot, “987, not a thousand miles,” and a few final notes from the end of the world.
Monday, 7379273.863740735.056855.5647393644633.5757303.82
To Whom It May Concern:
Oy, vey. This is God. We’re going to have to interrupt. This entire time We’re biting Our Tongue, and, where to start?
So, at the end.
He arrives in Finisterre. It’s a perfect day: warm, cloudless, everything as requested. Three oil tankers swept off the horizon so our poet here can have his “Blank Atlantic” arrival. No mention of this, but that’s a running theme with him.
And this:
He takes a call from that lovely wife of his in the lighthouse parking lot. He isn’t thirty-two yards from “the end of the world,” gets in a huge argument and hangs up on her. This should have been the first chapter. Nine-hundred and eighty-seven miles – not a thousand I point out – and this is how he wraps it up! This is not what you call sticking the landing.
What does she need, you ask? She needs the name of the middle school coordinator at the son’s school. Simple request. Rose Fegelman. You can’t make this u…
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