Day 1, Saturday. My wife of thirty years has left me—who knows why. Sure, it annoyed her that I hadn’t changed out of my bathrobe or moved off her sofa since my retirement in 2005, but is that a good reason? Tonight I went to the bar where we first met and tried again. Actually that bar was gone, so I tried one down the street that looked similar, only someone had removed all the Pac-Man games and the jukebox and substituted a virtual darts thingum and a mechanical bull. I sat down next to a fox in her early twenties who was blonde like my wife was thirty years ago and asked her if I could buy her a drink.

I was surprised when the superhero Catman moved into the long unoccupied home in my suburb across the street from me. The neighbors I talked to felt the same way. What was the Furious Feline, only a few years ago presented with a key to the city by Mayor Willis, doing in a rundown Cape

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It is reported that the 14-year-old Nietzsche was known as “The Little Pastor” at the Schulpforta school, for his resemblance to a country parson in seriousness and other-worldliness. In fact he was sometimes called    “The Little Groover” for his wild harmonica playing and hipness, and the whole received biography of him is open to deconstruction. Indeed

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