Kurt Vonnegut, dead at 84. I’ll amend this post later when I’m not scrambling out the door for work. I wonder if it didn’t occur to him to write an epitaph on his kitchen wall in feces.
[Special thanks to my 10th grade English teacher Phil Repko who surreptitiously introduced me to Vonnegut. Upon handing me Breakfast of Champions he told me that if I were apprehended, that I never to admit that I’d gotten the book from him. Boyertown had moments where book banning seemed likely, and Vonnegut would’ve been tops on the list.]