Larkin’s Deadline

February 9, 2014

[ Free Me From This Bond (sequel to the sequel): Chapter 14 ]

Date: Sat, 25 Jan 2014 22:45:28
Deadline is a week after Valentine’s Day
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor

Ellie, by “deadline” I mean the one I’ve set for Larkin, which date he
does not know…unless of course his telepathy reveals it. Should he
not display sincere apologies and restoration of his ugly deeds
(including getting me back into the bars), I will send him these two
following letters. At which point, I presume, a real battle will begin
and which may lead to a courtroom settlement:

21 January 2014


Time is drawing close that I must seek justice. For more than three decades my gay brothers here in San Francisco have cock-teased me, spit on me, spread gossip against me that causes enmity by many, beat me up, tried to make me homeless, get me unemployed, destroyed whatever friendships/lovers I could have or have had (even sent some to prison or outright killed them or turned them insane), etc. In a nutshell: they’ve treated me like a joke, and used me for their sadistic and vile entertainment…just like the very same homophobic heteros do to all gays.

While I realize that such torments are God’s way of strengthening my spirit, and that I have no enemies, only teachers…I also realize that God sometimes requires that I fight against my so-called enemies, regardless. And without emotional regard for those I truly love or who otherwise have been good allies for a long time in the past. If, indeed, they have turned against me and do everything they can to screw me over.

This of course, includes you, My Savage Serpent. For you have only tossed me the occasional crumb in this transition from the unexpected and undeserved grief you’ve caused me, into my own deliverance by my very own hand. I must therefore regard you as but one more pathetic ENEMY.

For you have done NOTHING thus far to end your gossip in the Castro about my being your stalker (which is a DELIBERATE and WICKED lie). You have also shoved me (last year in January) where I almost hit the concrete, yet have done nothing to apologize in a sincere manner. FYI: I don’t let ANYONE push me around; and will see justice done on my behalf in the long run. You’re such a big guy and so full of yourself, I guess you can’t imagine anyone knocking you off your sanctimonious perch!

You also refuse to give me hugs like you did in the past, which now extends over more than a year’s time.

I showed you much patience, understanding and forgiveness over many months. Yet the most kindness you’ve shown during that time, is an occasional brief conversation. You didn’t even tell me how much you like the novel I wrote in your honor…not even shown any gratitude for that lovely Scooby-Doo illustration. In fact, your only remark regarding that book was:

“I got your book. A friend of mine is reading it, and he’s intrigued. I just wish you had used my real name.”

Well, you know very well that you denied permission to use your name all along. I guess you think you’re such a clever smart-ass, eh? Looks to me that the only reason you care about your actual moniker appearing in that book is so you can gain glory (and much money by the potential celebritihood as a result). In other words: you’d just leave me behind in the dust, for your own arrogant and selfish reasons. Fuck me and all that, I’m just a pinheaded fool, huh?

NEWS FLASH: you are the fool, not me! As the saying goes:

“A fool is happy until his mischief is turned against him. And a good man may suffer until his goodness blossoms.”

Well guess what, loser pervert: YOU are the fool, and I am the good man!

I gave you the benefit of the doubt for a long, long time. Yet the only respite you give me, is a quick friendly remark as you stroll swiftly by. No stopping to chat for a time, no hug, no appreciation of my enduring friendship. In other words: crumbs to keep my hope barely alive and nothing more.

You really should get outta the Castro ASAP, if you value your fun times at any gay bar. You spend tons of times at bars in MY neighborhood, yet pretend you can’t even spend a brief 20 minutes with me even just once per week. It’s like maybe you’re a HARD-DRUG DEALER who sees my presence as a threat to your little empire you’ve established here in the Castro. I certainly hope not, but your behavior causes me GREAT SUSPICION. Were you only dealing in marijuana, you certainly wouldn’t behave this way.

What I find so fucked up is that you seem to gain much joy at the expense of my misery. You are like a psychic vampire who sucks the happiness from others, as some sort of fuel for your own empowerment. But if such be the case, please realize you can’t win in the long run…especially against yours truly, who is the ULTIMATE VAMPIRE SLAYER.

There is also the matter of my being heavily drugged at Hole in the Wall, back in 2007. No one showed me any compassion for my downfall…INCLUDING YOU! I remember that day clearly, when I approached you to hear of this tragedy. You were sporting that hideous haircut where half your skull was shaved. You looked ridiculous and disgusting: a style which I thought did not become your natural beauty in the least, but which I now conclude was EXACTLY what you deserve. For you ARE the fool, and I AM the hero after all.

I am composing this letter to VENT all the pent-up feelings that I’ve suppressed over many years. And if you are the truly good spirit I hope you are, you will understand and regard these words with compassion. Otherwise: WE HAVE A WAR ON OUR HANDS, AND I SHALL WIN, YOU BASTARD!

You should know that I DO NOT FEAR YOU in any way whatsoever, even if it comes to bashing me to a bloody pulp or killing me outright. For I hold myself to ETERNAL VALUES, not the temporal. My soul is already saved, no matter what I choose to do at this point, or what happens to me.

Every bad thing you’ve done to me (as well as every good thing) is documented on my web page for all the world to read. Even though I’ve replaced your real name with “Arwyn Miles,” eventually all my readers will point their fingers in your direction should any harm come to me, including my death. EVEN if you had nothing to do with it.

And as I become famous, ever more readers will accumulate. And they shall know who the real Arwyn MIles is, thanks to your telling your “friends” that the book is about you. For you DO realize they just can’t resist gossiping to THEIR friends about this book. So word will spread like wildfire across all the bars here in ‘Frisco. In other words: you’ll have no place to hide.

So if you turn out to be a really good guy in the long run…or if you turn out to be quite OPPOSITE from that…THEY WILL KNOW.

Think about this, and have a pleasant dream or two.

Your worst nightmare (and best friend of all time),


26 January 2014

Most beloved Larkin,

Since the moment you shoved me almost to the concrete over a year ago, every day for me has been a world of grief. Though I have struggled so much to give joy to many, to spread humor that others may smile in spite of my own tragedies…which you have witnessed through the printouts I’ve mailed. I would think that long before this point, you’d be totally proud of my victories in the face of much evil (and that face, sadly, is yours).

I cannot fathom how you seem to continue to have so much enjoyment: bowling, softball, schmoozing for hours at gay bars while I stand outside in the cold without a friend…knowing what you’ve done. As if you couldn’t even spare 20 minutes per week to sit down with me over a cup of coffee. Yes, you are so busy full of hours wasted over a bottle of Budweiser or a shot of whiskey at this or that dreary tavern populated by living cadavers whose only asset is money.

You have no true friend, but me. Yet for whatever reason beyond my comprehension, you choose to drain any joy I have left in life, and mock, humiliate and endanger me through gossip and absence. As if this is some sort of contest that you must win at any price. I’ve given you every benefit of the doubt above and beyond what anyone else (beyond God Himself) would do.

I will not become another martyr, another Marty, who you’ve drained of life to become yet another puppet under your absolute control…at the expense of his own happiness. Using your beauty in this manner is a grave offense against all that is righteous and moral.

I realize by now, befriending/trusting you was the worst mistake of my life, and is my downfall. For it is in my nature, my calling, to love you no matter what. Even if it send me to the grave…which I now realize is exactly the final outcome. I do not hate you, nor could I ever hate you. But I do hate this diabolical cross that God has placed upon my weary shoulders.

With greater sadness than I have ever known, I tell you, Larkin:

I am more of a man than you will ever be. Yet I shall die, and you shall live. You can have it, buddy. You can have it all.

I am surrounded by insane and shallow ghouls that call themselves “human” and “gay.” I hear them screech their hollow words every night below my window, acting out an idiot’s play that serves no purpose but to feed on the lofty goals and aspirations of kind (but naive) brothers. They are what I call “psychic vampires.” And you, my wicked friend, are one of them.

For I have sought justice over what has been done to me way back in 2007, when I was drugged and robbed from a patron at Hole in the Wall Saloon. Yet neither you, nor anyone else there, granted me the least bit solace. Instead, they spread further gossip to drive me out in a tidal wave of enmity. So at this point you should realize:

Not just for love of friendship have I reached out to you over the years. But to get to the bottom of this tragedy, and right all wrongs. My conclusion is that you are in some way connected to this cult, and that you do not want me to get too close to you to discover the truth.

Which is that you had something to do with my tragedy, even if just by association. After the incident, you suddenly glommed onto bartender Gary and (daily patron) Gypsy…parading your sterling association with them in front of me whenever I was around. You’ve also hugged so-called “friends” in a very lewd fashion if I was nearby, as if to cause me envy. Yet that is not your real motive: instead, it is your intent to make them think I have a jealous and possessive nature…that they may come to hate me (and, hopefully, cause me harm). I only feel great shame towards you for such behavior.

Personally, I’d be happy for you to hug as many people as you can, so long as it is not done in the gross manner you do. For I realize you don’t really give a flying fuck about them…it is all an act to drive me away or mad.

I hear that you no longer have anything to do with Gypsy or other nasty types out of SOMA. Since I am no longer there to be a victim of your pointless vengeance. Nowadays, you focus on simple minds in the Castro, to do your bidding against my very existence and even sanity.

With great love though misery be the last chapter,


P.S.: Don’t take the accusations I’ve said in this letter with anything but a hefty grain of salt. I think the whole matter is utterly hilarious, which is why I’ve composed this mail in comic book font. And I only celebrate the victory of my soul over abject evil. Have a great life without me. Your vulgar games only bring shame to your own pathetic self, and not to me. A bitter lesson learned on my part. But though I love you dearly, and always shall, this time I say goodbye for good. You will no longer see me outside Twin Peaks Tavern or (I hope to God) anywhere else.

P.P.S.: You’ve never even said if you liked my book, or the illustrations…in particular, the Scooby-Doo parody which I created just to put a smile on your face. You are like a black hole that sucks up every gift without ever acknowledging gratitude. All you care about is whether or not your real name is in it, that you may walk off with glory and leave me in the dust.

Date: Sun, 26 Jan 2014 00:33:46
Never mind, I sent the 2 letters…
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor

…just a moment ago, right after midnight. Enclosed them in a second
Valentine’s Day card that was meant for little girls. Contains a
removable felt barrette designed like a smiling, happy Mr. Sun. I
wrote in the card: “You are absolutely un-frikken-believable. Take
this any way you want.”

If he kills me soon, thanks for the fish. The bastard wants war, he’s got it.

– Zeke

Date: Sun, 27 Jan 2014 21:51:15
I feel greatly relieved…
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor

…for having snail-mailed My Devil Lizard those two scalding letters.
But not at first. Woke up the next morning with angst-filled regret:

“OMFG, I blew it like I blow every relationship with a hot man. In a
drunken stupor, I foolishly scoured his soul like a jealous banshee!”

But in a few more moments I came to my senses:

“No. It was good to vent, and Larkin loves me like the dearest
brother. He understands. In fact,” I continued, “he realizes that he
pushed the Zeke-velope to the point of flushing out the PTSD I’ve
built up over many years’ sacrifice on behalf of my gay brothers.”

I love My Dragon Dude so much, Ellie! He’s been pressing my buttons
for over a year now, that I clear up what remains of failed
relationships and activist endeavors. The Father Fukkuh knew what he
was doing all along…the man is BRILLIANT. And I’m sure his heart
went out to me with every single torment that struck my chord.

His initial shove triggered a domino effect that rippled all the way back to My Randolph. Who himself suffered such PTSD from Vietnam, you can’t imagine…and which rubbed off on this poor ravaged soul’s already-tormented life. “Free Me From This Bond” indeed! Larkin pulled the poison outta me, and did not cease rubbing salt into my wounds until all was healed. And I came to realize something else:

Only dawned on me yesterday why he ordered that drunken black man to pull his legs in from blocking the sidewalk. For I had just stepped back out from the tobacco shop, and he wanted to perform a gesture of kindness…that is: to clear my path back up towards Jane Warner Plaza.

He was crouched in address of the wino while looking up at me with those fiery orange irises that only a True Dragon possesses. And he knew that I wouldn’t understand until a day or two later! As I’ve said many times before (though in different words): My Celtic Seraphim is wise beyond my comprehension!

Thus I have no fear in our next encounter after he’s read my latest mail. Only gratitude. For he knows he’s put me through Hades (and for my own good), and that directing my hatred towards the source is the most appropriate reaction. Considering that I did /not/ understand his true motivation until some passage of time.

This catharsis has put an absolute /end/ to any fears of his leaving me in the lurch…that he might move on without me to other parts, such as elsewhere in the city, or even San Diego. He is here for me, and me alone. And he knows now that I know (for he is telepathic as all good guardian angels are)! And Larkin is damned BEAUTIFUL in every possible way, that even my dreams of the perfect lover don’t suffice.

I have no idea how our next encounter will manifest, except in general. Probably with no more antagonism, but sweet friendship to rule the day. Though knowing his ribald sense of humor, he might approach me like a punishing father who wants to whip my ass like the naughty boy I am. How incredible in spite of my being 12 years older than him, I always feel like a trembling son in contrast.

Well, there’s this hot fellow who’s been blowing me once or twice per week with no remunerative expectation whatsoever. Certainly helps relieve the tension of Larkin’s Trial by Flames. And he’s due to arrive any minute now. So I gotta wash my balls and wanger with a splash of vanilla extract in preparation.

Ha ha ha ha ha, El! I am such a piece of work.

Love ya,

– Zeke

Date: Thu, 30 Jan 2014 19:22:26
See? I told you he loves me!
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor

Just saw My Beloved Basilisk this eve, only moments ago. It’s now 6:22 PM, January 30. Decided to step out once more to see if Larkin was at Twin Peaks Tavern. And yes, he was! I wave at him in friendly gesture as I walk by, pretending I’m on my way three doors down to the tobacco shop.

He sees me and moves as if to emerge from the Glass Coffin (what we long-term queers of the Castro call TPT, since it’s a gathering hole for gay men on their last legs…and a great place to cruise the elderly for nightly companionship at the bargain rate of $50-100 a pop; which is how Larkin survives since he gave up his detective job several years back).

Well, standing some 30 feet down I watch the door swing with a loud “creak,” but My Angel does not step out. Though some seconds later he does, comes up to me and speaks:

“I just want you to know I got your letters and packages, five in all. I just haven’t had time to read them yet.”

“But Larkin,” I plead, “You hardly give me a chance to speak with you, so I’m compelled to write things down. They’re very important, and funny, and will do you much good!”

Larkin iterates with a strident tone: “You have my permission to use my real name in your books!”

“I know that,” I assure him. “Your verbal permission is good enough for me. But I need it in writing for the publisher.”

Larkin then leans his 6-foot-4 frame downward to query: “Can’t you just use my first name?”

Okay, at this point in our roller-coaster affair I’m well aware how he /loves/ to trip me up, thus do not emote one iota of frustration when I anwser:

“But you’re the only man on the /planet/ with the first name of Larkin!” He nods in sage agreement. I emphasize:

“I wanted to be clear that in book 2 you play the enemy. And one of the letters I sent you includes permission to use your real name in that sequel, and that you do /not/ come off in a good light.”

Larkin shrugs: “That’s life my friend, I’m okay with that.”

“Me too,” I heartily respond. “You orchestrated this entire affair. You pressed all my buttons, which I greatly appreciate. Especially since I now realize my trilogy will have a happy ending! You’re a /brilliant/ man, Larkin!”

Then he extends an arm to offer me a fist bump. I refuse and state:

“If I can’t get a real hug, fuggedaboudit. What is it with this ‘no homo bro’ fist bump?”

“Okay then, clasp arms instead,” he declares and waits for me to grip him back, all the way to the elbow.

“Nope,” I admonish, “that is /still/ not a hug.”

“Okay then Zeke, how about this?” He stretches his gangly arms in a vast reach to the stars.

“An /air/ hug?” I mock. “You gotta be kidding! Give me a /physical/ hug or nothing.”

Instead of fulfilling my passionate dream to be in his octopoid arms after more than a year without, he just flops them to his side. And looks upon me with a smile that would melt even Genghis Khan. (I do realize, El, that I’m playing my role impeccably, and this encounter is but a plot development he’s creating for chapter 15, book 3…the beginning of the happy ending)

“Here, move away from the door,” he declares. And so I do, to continue this silly badinage that provides me with the perfect opportunity to pelt him with loving bon mots.

I look up at My Marvelous Maverick to announce: “You think you’re such a tough guy, don’t you?”

To which he immediately responds: “Nothing less. You can take /that/ to the bank.”

So I retort with equal aplomb: “No! I love tough dudes. And I’m a tough guy too! So you’ve met your match.”

He thinks about this a moment, then says: “Move on now, I’m done talking,” and makes a peremptory gesture to brush me away.

I resist and stand firm. “I’m /always/ moving on, Larkin.” (Though I did not add, but wish I did: “I refuse to move forward any more without you.” The implication though, was not lost on My Delirious Demon.)

I stand firm and signal towards the door:”/You/ go back into the Glass Coffin now, with all your little friends!”

Instead, he walks several feet over to the other side of the dark green newsstand, expectorates on the concrete and expounds: “I’m spitting you out of my system!”

Wasn’t sure he said quite that so asked him to repeat, as I follow right behind and to the far end of the rack just two feet from My Benevolent Guardian.

“I’m spitting you out of my system!” he repeats. So I retort:

“Like this?” And spew out a wad of gum by his feet, along with a spritz of saliva. He seems to relish the entire scenario, as do I.

“You’re quite the psycho, aren’t you?” he challenges.

“Why yes I am, my brother!” I agree. “But you’re every bit the psycho I am, perhaps a lot more!” And add, for the sake of a great chapter:

“I’ve filled you with so much poison you’ll never rid of it! I’m in your system forever. Just as I’m filled with the poison of /you/!” I declare with immense force. “But that should be something to /celebrate/, not regret.”

He smiles broadly, showing off his remaining teeth filled with rot (like mine). And I love him dearly for that sacrifice. For he /could/ have returned to San Diego where he’d retain his career as detective, and his health insurance including dental. But he did not. He remains here in San Francisco to protect me.

There are funny things I thought of in the last two days to say to him, next time we meet. And now is the moment:

“Have I been giving you blow jobs without even knowing it?” I quip. He stifles a guffaw, which can’t be concealed by the irrepressible grin that crosses his handsome mug. So I continue:

“I know you’re a shape shifter, and can appear to me as anyone you want.” Now for the punch line:

“I’ve grown suspicious lately, especially with the last guy I blew.” I then make The Proposal:

“Marry me, Larkin. I /know/ you love me, and I’m tired of blowing strange cock!” He grins so broadly that my heart bursts with epiphany.

“Wait a minute,” I admit like a Catholic schoolboy at confession, “That’s a lie. I /love/ sucking strange cock and I don’t think I’ll /ever/ get enough!”

Larkin interrupts: “Well you have my permission. Go home now.” Then he dashes back into the Glass Coffin, leaving me stranded though well loved. (But just before the door slammed on his back, I hollered the most important words of all: “I love you Larkin!”)

Abandoned now, I saunter across the street to linger by the trash can, not knowing whether or not he’s seated in a position to view me. I enjoy a Fortuna while musing on the repartees that just occurred. Thanking him from the bottom of my gizzard for this opportunity to blast him in a golden shower of amity.

Then it’s off I go to report back to you, Eleanor, with my latest Larkin update.

With great sincerity and profound joy,

– Zeke

Date: Thu, 30 Jan 2014 20:22:55
Oh yes, he also asked…
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor

…when I said I love to suck strange cock:

“Don’t your ragged teeth get in the way?”

To which I replied: “Oh, I’ve learned to manipulate my way around that, thank you very much.”

I can’t believe this, El, the fun is about to take off! Finally.

– Zeke

Date: Thu, 30 Jan 2014 22:25:15
Re: Oh yes, he also asked…
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor

On Thu, Jan 30, 2014 at 10:03 PM, Eleanor wrote:

{{ That was just plain cruel of him to say that. I don’t like that at all. }}

Really? I thought it was hilarious. That was just an addendum coz I left it out of the main body. Did you find /that/ of any worth? Seems to me if he was the least bit not interested, he wouldn’t have provided me with the platform to exchange such fun badinage, like: “Larkin, marry me, I’m tired of sucking strange cock.”

And he said it was /okay/ to portray him as the bad guy in books 2 and 3, he’s not perturbed at all.

Well, I guess I can’t expect many people to grasp my perspective here.

– Zeke

Date: Thu, 30 Jan 2014 23:19:22
Re: Oh yes, he also asked…
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor

On Thu, Jan 30, 2014 at 10:52 PM, Eleanor wrote:

{{ I’m reading the earlier missive in the AM when I’m fresh and alert. It’s been a helluva day… }}

I hate those kind of days. Hope tomorrow is the opposite.

{{ Believe me, though, it was intentionally cruel and cutting of him to mention your “ragged decayed teeth.” }}

Out of context, I can see that. But you haven’t read the main body, in which he was incredibly kind, And when you consider his own teeth are deteriorated as bad as mine, I think he has some leeway in cracking such a remark. Almost like he was asking me for a /tip/ on how to give a good BJ under such a condition.

I also left out one more remark he made, after I told him I’m a tough man too, and he’s met his match:

“You’re lookin’ for a spank fest, aintcha?”

“Well yes,” I retorted, “sounds like fun to me!”

Anywayz, I think you’ll be rather amazed once you’ve read the first post. Rest well, Ellie!

– Zeke

Date: Fri, 31 Jan 2014 13:03:23
Re: See? I told you he loves me!
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor

On Fri, Jan 31, 2014 at 12:25 PM, Eleanor Cooney wrote:

{{ Yes, well, this puts the remark about your teeth in a different perspective, for sure. I somehow pictured him as having a mouthful of gleaming white gorgeous intact teeth….. }}

He used to have the most glorious ivories, you’d cream in your panties! First thing I’ll do with my windfall offa the book, is get that darling man’s teeth restored.

{{ Looks to me as if you have a great new chunk of dialogue all ready to go, with only a few minor adjustments! }}

Yep, been working on the polish all day. And ’tis done. Now typing to you from Howard’s.

{{ As for blow jobs and teeth, I think it’s instinctive (at least it is for me, and I have good teeth) to fold the lips around the teeth to protect the tender cockskin, administering occasional gentle and controlled tooth-rakes with care and discretion. One of my best sex scenes in IRON EMPRESS has Wu doing exactly that to the poor doomed Emperor…..driving him mad with desire! }}

Oh for cripes sake…sure glad I finished my grilled cheese and fries before reading this!

– Zeke

Date: Fri, 31 Jan 2014 13:59:19
Re: See? I told you he loves me!
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor

On Fri, Jan 31, 2014 at 1:54 PM, Eleanor Cooney wrote:

{{ Oh, right. Like you’re such a Victorian lady….. }}

Edwardian, actually.

– Zeke

Date: Fri, 31 Jan 2014 16:40:51
Re: See? I told you he loves me!
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor

On Fri, Jan 31, 2014 at 3:51 PM, Eleanor Cooney wrote:

{{ Dickensian, I’d venture. }}

Yes, some day I will compose a parody tale based on Dickens’ unique characters. With a gay spin to it of course…goes w/o saying.

I had this funny dream some years back: I was a young lady from Loch Lomond, Scotland who moved to Brooklyn with my newlywed husband in 1907. My maiden name was Elizabeth Anna Horsington, and I secretly penned lesbian romance novels while my darling managed the office of a whiskey distribution plant.

Before I even had a chance to be published, a tragedy ended my life. An electric curling iron exploded in flames and burnt me to a crisp.

But somewhere in a Brooklyn attic remains eighteen precious manuscripts that will eventually be discovered by a distant cousin of Alan Ginsberg…not THE Alan Ginsberg, but another by the same name. They will fall into the hands of the Advocate, and make a great splash in certain queer literary circles.

Somehow, in some uncanny twist of fate, I will become recognized as the /true/ author. I guess because by that time, we’ll have such a sophisticated DNA technology, that I will be recognized (through the impeccable marvels of science), as the sole reincarnation of Elizabeth Anna Horsington.

Which will make me fabulously rich and famous…even though it has always been my dream that “Free Me From This Bond” would accomplish same long before then. Which it does not, nor ever will. Though it /does/ win me Larkin’s noble heart and undying conjugal ecstasy. And for that, I am eternally grateful.

– Zeke

Date: Fri, 31 Jan 2014 17:49:49
Re: See? I told you he loves me!
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor

On Fri, Jan 31, 2014 at 5:35 PM, Eleanor Cooney wrote:

{{ You have the outline of a new novel right there. }}

Oh please, Eleanor, I can’t even keep up with what My Most Beloved Salamander tosses at me.

But you’re right: “Elizabeth Anna Horsington’s Secret Life of Romance & Aspirations of Edwardian Brooklyn.”

Or something like that. Well, I gotta step out now, in hopes that Larkin will approach me for further dragonly imbroglio. Or I shall return home in grievous disappointment.

My life sucks big time. But I /love/ so much that Larkin’s presence these past eight years has blessed me with a saving grace beyond my Walter-Mittiest fantasies.

– Zeke

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