High 5

 May 7, 2026

Spent the day, as I thought I would, revising Purification.

My place by the river, the café High 5, was destroyed by an arsonist last night. It is the place where, locally, I have written most, except for this room in which I type. People ask, “Why would anyone do such a thing?”  There is almost never an answer.

Man is in love and loves what vanishes,

What more is there to say? That country round

None dared admit, if such a thought were his,

Incendiary or bigot could be found

To burn that stump on the Acropolis,

Or break in bits the famous ivories

Or traffic in the grasshoppers or bees.