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what do i think of f. scott fitzgerald?

He was a great man.  He took me in when I was slumped against his door in the middle of the downpour night.  He clothed me, showed me a new life and a new love.  We skipped stones in Monet’s garden, walked along the Seine at dusk.  There was the paper airplane incident.  We laughed so giddily and so frequently I sometimes wondered if there was a time before this, or if there would be a time after.  I hoped not.  When he told me his stories he substituted my name in for all the characters.  It was confusing.

How I wish I could return to those carefree simple times.  Me and F. Scott Fitzgerald, living together as brothers.