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January 17, 2003
Morning sludge and grey cold are fractured by brilliant sunshine. After a trip to Glen Cove to see Anthony, Garrison is in top form, in better shape than I am. Cruising home on the parkway we are flying again. I think briefly of the Wizard, who hates cars, but has he ever felt this rush? Who needs a plane, or even the autobahn. I love the constant rolling hills and curves of the Northern State. I realize that brief thought of the Wizard didn't leave me breathless with heartache. The sun shines even brighter as we head east.