beddaufairbury

I believed I would n't hold anything interesting to describe today, simply the same-old, same-old: marks of fall, I 'm savoring the iciness and the color; reading & Moby-Dick
& chance treasures on merely about every other page*; listening to more of the same music; walking, sitting the train, assay not to drop off. On the other hand, in the last block of my walking, before I covered wall street & walked through the campus gate, a local woman, middle-aged, commited to bodily-self-preservation via workout & decorative sweetening, was sitting on the pavement maintaining a little dark Grey bird in her manus, petting it. Another passer enquire her if it was ached. The bird-handler told she maked n't believe so, but the bird looked terribly still there in her mitts, eyeball unfastened, not locomoting, not nictating.

*e.g.,
`` it Holds better to sail with a dour good captain than a laughing bad one '' ( 97 )
`` Betty, attend Snarles the Painter, and say him to paint me a mark, with no self-destructions permitted here, and no smoke in the parlor might besides kill both birds at once '' ( 99 )
`` hellhole is an thought foremost born on an undigested apple-dumpling '' ( 102 )
& likewise, I should observe: I 'm presently on pg. 114, Ishmael & Queequeg get on board the ship, ready to place canvvas, but are not yet really sailing on the H2O
, not yet.

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