And congratulations on finishing the Horizon rewrite. Yes, I did work yesterday. Four hours, though it seemed longer. In the morning I played my fiddle for the residents. After lunch I tried a poetry reading. Although it was well attended, it fell flat as an undercooked souffle. Oh well. At least the residents enjoyed the ice cream that followed. The thing is Brian had to work eight hours, which made my shift a walk in the park.
Write about a dangerous ride: They were coming back from Taggart's place. Denise was between Taggart and Fred, stoned out her mind, going on in this breathy baby voice about anything that came to her. Fred hunched over the steering wheel, watching the road, eating the road with his eyes, and the street lamps that sailed overhead. All he could think about was getting his wife back where they lived. Denise was a registered nurse, working for the county hospital. She misappropriated morphine from the drug department there. Rather than call it theft. It was for Denise's habit. She'd had an operation for scoliosis some time ago, and this was the aftermath. She watched the dark, shiny world drift by in a singular blur. Taggart shored her up, kept her from leaning against Fred. They went over some bad road and Taggart held her from swaying. "Oh, honey," she said. Oh, honey. Fred leaned farther over the steering wheel, the muscles of his jaw rippling under the skin.
Bob
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