3 AM, Budapest

June 16, 2014

Three-thirty in the morning, in a hotel room you’re about to vacate: the loneliest place in the world.

Dreamed I bought a new house, actually an old one, a farm house, with the expected features, but also with a gigantic unfinished room that stretched out for yards and yards, and ended without a fnal wall: an image, I would think, of the habit of living with hopeful uncertainty.