ANOTHER hotel, another hangover. Another breakfast trying to decipher the
notes scrawled on a beer mat during my creative small hours.
This one looks like the seismograph trace of the great Kanto earthquake, so
it’s probably the business plan for an offshore republic I’m planning to
establish on one of those icebergs the size of a county that keep breaking away
from the Ross Ice Shelf. Citizens of the Republic of Icedom will enjoy low
taxes, firm government and year-round winter sports—at least until the
nuclear power plant (Soviet Navy surplus) melts clean through the bottom.
No, I remember.…
