I forced myself to open this box when I needed to find some details that are going into the manuscript I'm working on. The box is deeper than it looks, in more ways than one.
I was pleased to see my writing from years ago is lucid and rounded, but pained by past experiences. Maybe I should hand this stuff over to someone else.
These moleskins are filled with champagne filled nights when I was making the transition from Florence to Paris. Most of it looks like chicken scratchings.