[writes paper] this doesnt make any sense [prints it] [doesn’t proofread] [hands it in for a grade]
No, but think about this. We’ve seen the Winter Soldier face Fury’s car.
Maybe he’s done the same with Howard. Maybe his hair wasn’t so long yet. Maybe he wasn’t wearing a mask. Maybe Howard saw his face in the headlights for just a second.
Maybe Howard and Maria died in a car crash. Maybe Howard swerved to not hit a ghost.
Between this and the story about him reassuring F. Scott Fitzgerald re dick size, I’m developing a picture of Hemingway as the mother hen of the disaffected white male literary set of the early 20th century.
He probably called up Steinbeck sometimes and was like I CAN’T EVEN WITH THESE DIPSHITS and Steinbeck was all “That’s what you get for living in Paris, asshole”.
w e l c o m e t o n i g h t v a l e
What a temporary perfection we can find in this passing world. Everything good, ever done, everything good that was done today; and all the good people doing it. And back, and back, and forward, and forward. All that beauty within a universe unraveling.Be proud of your place in the cosmos. It is small, and yet it is. How unlikely! How fantastic! And stupid. And excellent.