James Joyce | Ulysses | 1922

Dear Bloom,

I met this guy named Aron Schmitz, and he said he was you. The nerve! He told me a funny story. He was crossing the street and a car smacked into him. Down he went to the pavement. Ambulance rushed in. When Schmitz got to the hospital, he feared death was near, but his last thought was not of his friends or even his wife. It was of cigarettes. He had loved them his entire life and could not imagine passing out of the world without them. He asked for one. It turned out that he survived the accident. "Survived to smoke," he said. As I was leaving he repeated the outlandish claim that he was you. I said no that Bloom was Bloom and only Bloom. He laughed and said, "Tell him Italo Svevo said hello."

Arrivederci e buona fortuna,
John Wallace