Notes From the Underground — 11

Dear Loyal Few,

After the destruction of my novel, and my subsequent mourning period, I could stay in Listvyanka no longer. I have boarded a train on the infamous Trans-Siberian Railway, and will make tracks for Moscow, and the stomping grounds of Pushkin, Dostoevsky and Tolstoy. 

I also wanted to partake in a traditional Russian banya, hoping that scalding water and a merciless beating by birch branch would cleanse my ragged soul. I saw that they had great vats of hot water on the train just for this purpose, and called for a session immediately. It was a disappointment, however, since obviously these baths were not built for someone of my magnificient stature. 

The ever present Coca-Cola bottle was a fortuitious inclusion in this picture. That vessel happens to have the Russian word "optimist" printed across its flank. I find this fitting for one such as myself, whose strength of character has persevered through such vexing trials thus far. 

After careful consideration of my personal journey, and in keeping with the advice of one of my favorite poets, I shall tomorrow begin a tentative step into the world of epic poetry. It may be my previous ventures in lyric verse, memoir, and fiction only burst in failure because they were not grand enough to properly bear my ideological fruit. 

With epic gumption, 

Naked Man