Dear Ann 
You were my girlfriend, psychological advisor and psychic hear in the difficult upstart of American Pictures on the East Coast. In those years I drove enormous stretches and was always tired and exhausted, when I came back to New York. But no matter how late it was in the night, you were always standing ready there with warm teas, massage and warm affectionate love. Since I couldn't myself find energy to distribute my book, you offered to take the job as my book distributor. That was to become your death. After what I was later told you were hit by a car on the way to the post office with the books in the spring 1985. I was terribly done in, but for years I felt we continued our communication where ever you were in the hereafter. And my thoughts continues to drift back to you. I miss you!