PRINT February 1982

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I met this guy and he looked like he might have been a hat check clerk at an ice rink—which, in fact, he turned out to be.

And I said, Oh boy, right again.

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You know, it could be you. It’s a sky—blue sky. Satellites are out tonight.

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You know, I could write a book. And this book would be thick enough to stun an ox. Cause I can see the future—and it’s a place. About 70 miles east of here, where it’s lighter. Linger on over here. Got the time?

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I got this postcard and it read, it said: Dear Amigo—Dear Pardner—Listen, I just want to say thanks. So, thanks. Thanks for all the presents. Thanks for introducing me to the Chief. Thanks for putting on the feedbag. Thanks for going all out. Thanks for showing me your Swiss army knife. Oh and uh—thanks for letting me autograph your cast. Hug and kisses—XXXOOOO.

Oh yeah. P.S. I . . . I feel . . . feel like . . . I

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