The following is a work of fiction.

Not Nick Nolte's Diary, Malibu, California
July 7, 2005


The stationary Costance and I picked out is quite like the Truman administration: stuck between more memorable brothers. Trying to combine my taste for French-type bone-white paper and hand-lettering and Constance's apparent need for frill and pomp was not easy. You've never seen so many shades of yellow before, Diary. Insert a joke about creative cowardace on your own time, Diary. I said as much minutes after stepping into the place when Constance jabbed me in the ribs. Manolo wisely reminded me to bring my hanko to test the papers. That block stamp has been my calling card for years. The story behind it is a strange one. On a press junket in Tokyo, a kindly gentleman pressed it into my hands before being overtaken by their local police. I'm not even sure what it says. I'd like it to be a formula for a new ginko or something, but it most likely says return to sender.

[signed] Nick

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