The following is a work of fiction.

Not Nick Nolte's Diary, Malibu, California
December 29, 2004


Mary Ellen managed to get me one of the few Range Rovers in this town, so I am comfortable behind the wheel. I will not impune Constance's navigation, let's just say not even a tourist-town bent on self-parody could have that many tiny clocktowers. We must have used the same einbahnstrasse twenty times. No matter, we got to Terry's chalet around two, so only the Hausdiener was there to receive us. The place was half-buried in snow and quite remote. Reminds me of Bob Downey in the early seveneties. As I watched him unload the car, in a unexpected moment of satori I remembered where I buried a case of Olympia beer at my high school football field. Then I remembered another case we buried in the desert outside of Tonopah. I wonder if the words Zermatt and Tonopah have been used together by anyone other than Sam Beckett, Diary.

[signed] Nick

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