
I don’t think he gets enough sleep. I get up in the middle of the night to pee, and I can hear the white noise of the off-air channel as the static strobes blue and the speaker hisses behind his door. This is what growing old in Lansing is. The television takes you to bed.

She asked me if I could help out with a friend of hers. He had problems with alcohol, women, and drugs. I already knew about the women, because every pretty girl in town seemed to have slept with him.

I don’t know what happened at the ice cream parlor after I left, but later that day while I put a load of sheets and towels into the Maytag at Mount-Wash-More, Soldier Boy watched me, leaning against a dryer, talking into his wrist-watch.

The baby, Lela, one day old, named by Effie without Dan, was a beauty, but girls are pretty to their fathers, which begged the question: Was this child his?

I am in the boss’s cabin listening to him, and suddenly I feel my face flee. It is as if it is drifting sideways, toward the wall, or toward the translucent board that is riveted to the wall for scribbling thoughts.