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May 24, 2007
Matt told me he wanted to be a writer because he thought it would be easy. “I can write, no sweat,” he said. “There’s a big demand. Blogs, websites, letters, top ten lists … I can totally do that.” I shrugged and said, “Go for it.” He went clubbing, celebrated his life-decision, while I stayed in, reading Sol Stein and thinking about this image of two people arguing when they deeply wanted to dive in bed and make nasty. Matt got home at 4 AM. I was sleeping. He stumbled over me; knee on my hand, beer breath. My design.