This morning, the Writers’ Almanac wrote that today is Hemingway’s birthday. EH once wrote,” Do not worry. You have always written before and you will write now. All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know.” One of those sentences read, “I have stood on the crowded back platform of a seven o’clock … bus as it lurched along the wet lamp lit street while men who were going home to supper never looked up from their newspapers as we passed Notre Dame grey and dripping in the rain.”

I contend that he, like Joyce, mostly just wrote one run-on sentence after another and they were true.

I was inspired to write something in that style:

I have stood many evenings looking out my upstairs window and watched the light of the already-set sun hit the mountain in the east and turn it orange and then pink and then go dark and wonder why everyone does not say goodnight to the day like this.