The following is a work of fiction.

Not Nick Nolte's Diary, Malibu, California
November 5, 2004


On my way back from Hollywood this afternoon I got so sick of the highway traffic that I pulled off and parked at the beach. I watched the sunset through the windshield and thought of a book about the sky that Johnny Toll gave me. I should skim it again to refresh my knowledge of cloud names. You never know when you'll run into someone who gave you a book, and as likely as not they'll ask about it. How you enjoyed it, etcetera. I listened to a European football game in Spanish. I let Neil's thoughts about language wash over me. The atomosphere in the Range Rover put me to sleep like a cat in a sunbeam. The car needs to be detailed and in many ways so does the driver.

[signed] Nick

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