Thursday, October 20, 2005

I am somehow not troubled by a visit from Clyde Hembry, who was in waketime the nadir of the sump of our old hometown society. I mean, seedy thugs try and avoid Clyde, and all that kept him out of prison for major crimes was a lack of imagination. But he is there briefly on some nefarious mission and it's innocent as far as I'm concerned so I give him the location of a certain green of the Golf Club.

This is as wide as the social span runs in our town: from the Golf Club, the smalltown unexclusive enclave yet nest of the most posh families we can afford, and Clyde, but I seem to believe Clyde has a justifiable need of the data so I give him "A-21" and I step outside. I will show him where. I expect him to follow, and he does, but too slow is he at leaving my quarters to suit me.

Here he comes. It's sunshine outside, and I stride forth. I look at the numbers on the greens. I see H and then guide over that way for B section. The greens, I see, relate to large metropolitan newspapers. This makes perfect sense to me. I recognize now that A-21 must mean the San Jose Mercury News.

Over this way, Clyde. Watch the traps.

1 comment:

tremonius said...

There is a brief squib when I and someone are working on a set of carved keys for printing. They are ornate and wooden, very rococo. I begin to place them in the printer, which is some sort of lithograph from old movies, and only then think that there should be some order where the separate keys are placed.