ot romanticise you too muc  yourself? Came knocking at my door in all your foul, cool, c stuffed  late in to make an  imes used to ten t you mig; expecting it. . .quot; God, Im forty, noy! I  if indeed you popped up out of t brigton side ing to om of t;I am noo a er,quot; as t all t ed one. But I . Not I.

    And e too, tique ballads in ernational language of tzer Cadillacs you liked, t you envied G.I.s for, all ready to e me   quadrap;; you reveried, quot;Im going to Mempo marry Presley.quot;) You ogetoo muce tietury, you person from tical arrival is a catastropoo terrifying to contemplate, even in t plangent state of regret for ones youth.

    I lead a quiet life in Souto a spot of early baroque on to a er. Like ture t created me, I am receding into t at a rate of knots. Soon Ill need a es if anybody under ty-five is going to compre t. . .

    Going out into to pick rosemary to put inside a c grass, enoug to make a pie.

    Lettys cat sits on Lettys tle Fiat to tal, folloty in to Lettys cat but  turn urned to spikes, nut husk.

    Letty is in al supping broted cup and, for all my kind , of tys companion anot until today, going out to pick rosemary o stuff a roast for our greedy dinners.

    I called  turned o too o climb since noents of a guilty tin of cat food over. Come and get it.

    Lettys cat never moved, only stared at me s curtained eyes. And t, sleek cats from every garden up and doo ted feast and gobbled all do tless banquet at s stretc last,