One word, one sentence at a time I will reconstruct the story. I've done it before. One world, one sentence at a time I will reconstruct the story. Forgive me. The original order has been lost amid a countless succession of beginnings. I rely on you to restore the details. One word, one sentence at a time I will reconstruct the story. Forgive me. The original has been lost but I promise to stay true to its drift. One word, one world at a time. Forgive me. The original version of this story does not exist. One world, one sentence at a time, this is the drift. The notes are scattered. No. Not scattered. The notes—hastily jotted down, scribbled on scraps, scrawled in notebooks, penciled on flaps, saved in a succession of files—are lost. They were seldom read. They were never read at all. They cannot be collected. The words, disjointed, were set down and abandon. No. Not abandon. It is a story in threads and tatters—images, ideas, phrases, paragraphs, the disembodied alphabet reverberating, returning, haunted—but I digress.