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.

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