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By: Jim Drew
In preparing this text for publication, this editor has often had to result to common sense and supposition to fill in lacunae caused by the author's obvious haste in writing. Many words and whole phrases are simply (to these eyes) not legible. It is more than probable that errors have been made. For these I apologize. Wherever my best guess could not suffice, a note has been entered to that effect.
9/29/'49
Baltimore
I have left Richmond behind, perhaps forever. Terrible
scene. I had recently become engaged to Sarah, sweetheart of
my childhood, lately widowed. As I had just lost my beloved
Ginny the year before, it was felt by us both that there was
much to be gained by our union. Alas, 'twas not to be. A sudden
fit or seizure at dinner seemed to her to be proof of drunkenness,
though I swore (truthfully) I had not touched a drop in
months. The evening ended early with cruel words, and I staggered
home like the sot she had accused me of being.
Wretched in the morning. Room spinning. Vision unreliable.
Have taken a room above this tavern, central to every place
I must visit in the next few days--also cheaper, as I didn't
have time to withdraw funds from the bank in Richmond.
9/30/'49
Afternoon
Little or no sleep last night. The "raveled sleave of care"
remains unknit. And waking or sleeping, what visions come to
haunt me! What sounds and shocks! What beasts of nightmare!
This unearned drunkenness is tribulation enough, but now I fear
for my sanity.
10/1
P.M.
Yesterday I wandered, mindlessly, through Baltimore. I
can little report what I saw, or how much of it was real. My
body knew what my mind and eyes did not, for often I, as if
waking from a stupor, would find myself in old familiar haunts.
The dear old humble house, the Inner Harbour, the churchyard
by Westminster, the shot tower. I do not know whether I ate
or drank, but when again (by some unknown miracle) I found this
tavern I [illegible] and took it out into the street. The stares
of passers-by and the tavern's rude clientele soon drove me
from my perch upon the stoop. I found a little haven underneath,
that behind a pair of dustbins, afforded some surcease.
10/2
Virginia is here.
Look not upon our sweet desires!
10/?
Gone. ![]() No more silence or beauty or mercy or [illegible] All I hear is my heart my heart my heart my heart my Must write an epitaph
on earth of all we hope in heaven
all that we see or seem
Lo! death has reared himself a throne
to Hell with it--all I ever wrote was epitaphs! Let 'em
pick & choose. But no damned raven!
[Illegible]
I
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The author, my best friend - passed away on August 09, 2003. I am very proud to be able to present this short story that was offered specifically for inclusion in BossWolf's Den. Jim was a renowned writer and stage actor/vocalist. You may visit a biographical memorial page for Jim at:

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