 Posted: Sat 11:57, 12 Feb 2011 Post subject: On the Makaloa Mat LondonJack Published bbaafjkh |
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| I could hear the TV cackling away in the kitchen. I went down
killed itthen froze with my hand still on the OFF buttonlooking at Jo's annoying waggy-cat clock. Its tail had finally stopped switchingand its big plastic eyes lay on the floor. They had popped right out of its head. I went down to the Village Cafe for suppersnagging the last Sunday Telegram from the rack (COMPUTER MOGUL DEVORE DIES IN WESTERN MAINE TOWN WHERE HE GREW UPthe headline read) before sitting down at the counter. The accompanying photo was a studio shot of Devore that looked about thirty years old. He was smiling. Most people do that quite naturally. On Devore's face it looked like a learned skill. I ordered the beans that were left over from Buddy Jellison's Saturday-night beanhole supper. My father wasn't much for aphorisms — in my family dispensing nuggets of wisdom was Mom's job — but as Daddy warmed up the Saturday-night yelloweyes in the oven on Sunday afternoonhe would invariably say that beans and beef stew were better the second day. I guess it stuck. The only other piece of fatherly wisdom I can remember receiving was that you should always wash your hands after you took a shit in a bus station. While I was reading the story on Dev christian louboutin shoes biancayilai: ugg boots clearance On the Makaloa Mat LondonJack Published bbaafjeb |
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