Tomorrow I hit the road again. At daybreak I'll be heading south to Augusta to catch the bus to Boston and from there the bus to New York City, and as twilight falls I'll be gliding down the island of Manhattan, listening to the driver mutter epithets about the traffic, watching the insouciant jay walkers and the insouciant pigeons and the flat-footed ladies pushing their groceries in hand trucks and the teenagers shrieking on stoops and the taxis cruising around corners and the fat men smoking outside the off-track-betting storefronts and the construction workers climbing out of holes and the signs blinking and the tourists from North Carolina taking pictures of the signs and college kids dressed up as muppets in Times Square and men in ugly suits striding toward the PATH train and hungry people lurching across packed streets and babies crying in strollers. I will write to you as soon as I can.