Apple Tree Inn, the nightly gathering place of all Winslow residents, and in many ways the core of the town's happiness, always had a warm fire crackling on the hearth and was known for its good cider and company.

She told herself there had been nothing outside, nothing peering in at her from the darkness.

Nothing at all.

Light, show yourself pure and strong,
Save a man from evil's throng,
Take a form, small and white,
Give this girl the strength to fight.

Losing someone close to you is more haunting than a life of cursed solitude.

~The Moon Master

The dawn is killing me off, the fog is on the windows, the [ra]coons have robbed the cans, and down in Rio its 8 a.m. and the whores who missed last night are already out on the beach in their fine little bikinis and if I could get my hands on just one of them I would be God's happiest man. But that's not likely tonight, so I'll get some sleep and wake up tomorrow with a fix on the Hell's Angels.

- to Angus Cameron in a letter dated 06/28/1965

Coming of age in a fascist police state will not be a barrel of fun for anybody, much less for people like me, who are not inclined to suffer Nazis gladly and feel only contempt for the cowardly flag-suckers who would gladly give up their outdated freedom to live for the mess of pottage they have been conned into believing will be freedom from fear.