To: The Boss
Date: September 21
Mona’s returned. She was 50 pages from the end of Poma when Herman ate it. Some amigo!
From their porch, Mona and Paul can observe how two houses define a canyon. Their driveway leads into another. Across the street, the canyon continues through two more houses before shrubs enclose the vista. These houses are nondescript working-class gray or dirty blue, with porches and lean-tos added on over the years. The rest of the neighborhood is largely lawn chairs on patches of grass, torn roofing, noisy flivvers, old women, gravel, weeds. A touch of the mountains beyond town hangs overhead. Groundhog possesses how many chapters on this?
On our way for pizza, we joked that their new address sounded like a bad novel: 9 Scribners’ Lane. We started calling the place Scribners’ Inn.
Connie, the kid downstairs, is running around. She whistles like a man and smokes tough. Despite her nice body of 16, she has a pasty complexion from all-America greasy food.
Paul sprawled out, asleep, with the surviving portion of Poma open on his lap. Photos enclosed.
Then, when we took Herman for a walk, he hit in a parking lot, straddling like a puppy. Another dog moved in and Herman jerk away, afraid.
An Edsel sits on blocks in the driveway.
Paul’s junk luck has produced a fine captain’s chair, good padded chair, and pair of men’s boots all from trash piled up on the street today.
View from the roof offers more mountains. Again, photos enclosed.
For the full story, click here: BIG INCA