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F i c t i o n |
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I like her hats, but Bernice says for her it's the glasses: some wide
and darkly bookish, others light and frameless, depending on her
disposition. I don't know how Bernice can translate her moods since Betty
never speaks to us, but she says it's a woman thing, a reading of the signs.
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"Max, stop the press!" I showboated for Ruthie. Truth was, the press
never ran until the Union crew staggered in, usually after midnight,
usually late and happy, usually after two or three rounds...
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When you said cowboy I thought of the traditional image: lean, tanned
virile Marine Corps vet smoking roll your owns, listening to Merle
Haggard tapes in his custom Ford pickup, calling women pals darlin',
standing at attention with his hand over his heart for the national
anthem at rodeos--
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Little Jumbo lit a cigarette, and they smoked and looked at each one
of the customers in the Four Corners Cafe. Some looked back, but most
sober-breakfast-eating faces didn't, because this was every day for them.
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This remote, alien city, with which I have had no intimacy, had, over
the years, silently insinuated itself into my consciousness as a deeply
beloved place. It is a love born out of nothing...
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