Homeless, that's the work of another class! "A bacchanalia with any of the thin yellow papers or the mint could be patient. There could be tears from everything that usually lays down between the tall machines where this sex won't be heard and it can't be confused for being as wet or uncomfortable as it really is." Crunchy with street salt, my name’s not so amazing as it could be. Hello it’s me sitting here in Sophies’ Busy Bee. I don’t have to look up, I can’t even try to. My eyes are being held by Kobo Abe’s novel, Box Man. As it goes along, I’m transcribing it, word for word into this ringed notebook from the bodega where I buy my beer. Many have written about this book’s appeal but I’m not essaying about any of the resounding metaphors of that Kobo’s teased from post war reality. I’m trying to consume this book as literally as I can. Not out of identification with the protagonist’s isolation, so much as it’s glorification in iconic home decorating sense. The l