Diane, 11:30 a.m., February 24th. Entering the town of Twin Peaks, five miles south of the Canadian border, twelve miles west of the state line. I've never seen so many trees in my life. As W.C. Fields would say, I'd rather be here than Philadelphia.
I feel sad today. I donβt know why. Is something missing?
I feel as though I have lost something. Something beautiful. Something that has transcended the mortal coil.
I feel as though I lost a person.
I feel as though I lost my friend.