Minus 6 degrees. Every chimney and stack puffing smoke. The Chron is frozen solid. They cannot attach his concrete letters to his conning tower. They would like to crack into pieces on the flatbeds. I'm reading We Survived The Night, thinking of the times i went to the island in Salish country. I was lost then. It's funny to think I may be found here so much later in the city in the middle of Turtle Island. I thought it might be interesting to write down my life, as much or little as I recall, as though I were someone.