The day the telegram came, I carried the sketch book with me as I
made my way to the top of a hill East of town, looking for a clear view
of the Pacific Ocean.
I opened the book to a blank page and attacked the vacant surface with a
pencil. Howling out loud until the tears came. Eventually I
got up and walked home.
It was getting dark. I left the sketchbook behind me somewhere in the
tall grass, and I did not go back to look for it.