I stay longer at the house on Mason Street than planned, unable to detach myself from Putnam’s palace and his belongings. The quiet surrounds me, and it feels enlightening to touch his journal in my hands, consuming his words and writing world. With Tool Belt finished, I decide to read more. Another one of his writings stands out: Mr. Farewell. The title alone grabs my attention. Again, I begin to read:
* * * *
Mr. Farewell
He takes what he wants from young men. The younger the men are the more he takes; this is how he works. And this is how he rips hearts out of youthful and soft chests and breaks them all into a thousand little pieces, crashing, smoldering, obliterating them. Grinds some of them between his fingertips and whispers, “Into ash now. We have nothing. We’ve never had anyth
