Working on the next novel. About a guy and a cow. Early excerpt:
Forty-two, and he had hit that stage where more and more he recognized recurrent patterns of behavior in humanity in general and himself in particular. This workaday predictive ability solved pretty much nothing and in fact could be a source of frustration and pique, but the upshot was, it made life more navigable. Good or bad, you sensed what was coming, and which way to steer. It wasn’t that you could avoid the collision, but you bought yourself time to brace, or assume a position designed to minimize collateral damage. It wasn’t a crystal ball type of insight. It was more a low-grade prescience. You could look at something the younger you would have accepted at face value, solve for the variables of human nature, and shortly extrapolate a narrow range of how things were gonna go.
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