I'm sure Mr. Gates means well, but I find the quick, blase diagnosis and the parallels with Hemingway careless and inane. Hemingway was sickeningly delicious - full of vile black gunk. David was beautiful and real, and he *got* people, no matter what they were like. He got *everything* in a way that no one else does. It's a devastating loss. I thought I'd get to spend the rest of my life intermittently waiting for his next book or essay, as I have since I first stumbled upon him, and now I have nothing.









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