To Whom it May Concern

For Harry Cobb Soon I’ll move to Norway. If that’s a bitter pill, well, swill, swallow. I’m going, and I won’t wallow, not in Norway, where they’re so beyond slave labor, with laws that say a clerk must work within five meters of a window through which she can see a tree and by that tree be seen. My mind’s made up. I will be Norwegian with Norwegian trees. I’ll be seer and be seen. It’s a scenic scene, it’s how it goes, I’m going. Tell the top brass, if they ask, I don’t give a damn about their asses. But I will miss the beeches and the ashes. It’s not their fault I’m leaving. They’re only trees, and leaving, I’m Norwegian.