|Life in a wooded hide away.|
Still others believed that having spent so much time writing about crime while defending those accused of various felonies that I'd used my knowledge of crime to successfully orchestrated a series of undetected criminal acts relying on flawed FBI analysis to take hedge fund cash into my swelling Swiss bank accounts. Oh, if only this were true! I'd buy each of you an espresso and as you'd squeeze the lemon and wait for it to cool ask about life in America.
Another wild internet meme had it that I never existed and that this blog you're reading was merely a myth. This one to my mind seemed most likely to be valid. As nothing is as impermanent as a blog except life; each moment gone forever till memory itself dissolves to nothing.
Finally a small group of dedicated readers set out to find me. They interviewed friends and members of my family. One said all in all I wasn't so much lost as simply not found. They searched my high school transcripts wondering how I'd gotten into college much less law school. Had there been foul play? Thru careful study of taxes paid and some avoided, clerk of court records and information gleaned from random scattered sand at drunken midnight seances at Clearwater Beach, they began to form a radical opinion - I could be found.
And when they came for me they found my small sheltered gazebo in the deep woods overlooking a brook that meanders out to Old Tampa Bay - immersed in beauty, lost in time I listen for the screech owl at the end of day.