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Choose: door number one, two, or three? Choose: three seconds. Too late.

Darkness in the sun's handshake against leaves underbelly shadows stir. In the dark outline there's a pool of water. Drink. It's good water, "fine" water: water to drink.

17: To quote Charles from Beetlejuice, "This book reads like stereo instructions."

The Little Boy Lost & Found: The father’s feet are swift, barely touching the ground; he looks back when the boy's breath falters sound: the father searches by fire until muscles weep, and finally seizes his son by a cedar fast asleep; "I've missed you!" the father shouts, holding him close, yet the boy looks over the man's shoulder, creating great doubt.

A Doctor's Visit: The doctor walks through the tenant buildings, touching the top button of his morning coat every eleventh step, and stops just outside the factory; smoke billows from the farthest stack. He whispers, "All of these improvements," he thumbs the button on his coat, "all of these improvements... are nothing but incurable diseases."

Hell: Return. Sit on the top step, lean back against the wall and rest. You are weary, yes? Your shoes are gone and your socks are wet: remove them. They smell of vodka and urine. "That was hell?" you say, wiggling your toes; picking at the scabs on your ankles. You are weary, no? "That was hell," you say. Your palms are bleeding. "Love must be reinvented," says a voice from the dark below."

16: I brought Mr. Huxley with me HemWay. You want to talk shit about him, do it to his face. If he doesn't throw you off the veranda, I'll oblige.

My shadow looks different; his legs are burnt match sticks but his chest is a pumpkin pushing forward. He resembles E.T.'s head. "We no longer look alike," I say. My shadow replies, "Yeah, so... You left. What did you expect --" "Wait! You were supposed to wait!" "Shut up. What did you expect... shadow." "Shadow? Who? That's you!" I shout. My shadow laughs, turns, and starts walking towards the sun. 

Intro: I broke into your Georgian house. The attic smelled like wet hair and the servants were gone. The drawing room had an impressive view of the river: northeast window. The entrance hall wallpaper is peeling off. The books in your study were warped, foxed, and ready for repair. I go to the cellar door; Hell is painted on the front. I open the door and descend.

15: This time I enjoyed the detour; I needed you shut up about bullfighting, since I lose brain cells every time you address the subject. The Newspaper Man story has to be a metaphor for your relationship with Faulkner. Gee... I wonder, which one of you was wearing pajamas?

More Stately Mansions: Updike outlines the raw nature of an extramarital affair. The pacing and writing have rhythm, and some of the quotes are cast-iron brands straight out of the fire.

The Little Girl Found: Parents walk the forest night, wanting their girl in morning bright; a lion stretches out his golden mane, guiding them to the eyes of rain; will they stay with the lion's flock? or curse the land to the devil's stock?

"The Farmer met the aged Devil on the road," Mr. Murakami warns. Mr. James suggests, "Bring lots of paperclips and don't fall asleep."

14: At least the old lady calls you out, but you couldn't help dropping Mr. Faulkner's name... now could ya?

The Little Girl Lost: The midnight desert deep, takes the girl to find some sleep.

7LastCafe: Rocinante's windows are broken and her frame is twisted; Charlie sits on your lap. Look! The tank is starving and our tires are silver: go back. "You're hungry?" No. "Let's stop there... little cafe." No. White counters don't serve black coffee.

D6 [Home]: "Can you live on a barstool?" Indians, ghosts, years roll away, singing, fingernails scratch the bar table, arguments... family. Grizzly bears, undiapered minds, a chain chokes the Adam's apple: a metal hangs, internal war, discrimination... home. "Take your seat and stay." I live in New York now. "Take your seat and stay." American identity, smiles with missing teeth and earthworms... strangers.

13 (Querencia): The four page paragraph on the bull's querencia was fascinating. Bulls and humans share a similar trait: a want for refuge. A bull will seek security, even when trapped in an arena of dirt, blood, pain and death while wedged between smiling fleshy faces.

The Darling: The theater; that's where you belong. You can play any part... Yes, costumes succumb to must. How about the timber trade? Calculations! And making pieces fit! I know, dry rot is unforgiving. Animals then... you could be a veterinarian. You have the touch. True, arthritis. My dear, what then. What do you want? Oh... I see... OK. But first tell me why.

#5: You're in love with Montana? "Telescopes, guns, colorful mountains, slow speech... What do you think?" Why'd you leave? "Charlie... had places to see, places to know." Yeah... Fine. But I cut my own hair, always, no hairdresser for me.

12: You tell the old lady, "What would you like to have? A diatribe against venereal disease?" I push my way to the front of the line and interrupt, "Why not? I need discussion questions for when I visit the senior center."

The Student: realizes words from 1912, scribbled in a loose leaf notebook, resemble a text message from 2054.

11end: Bulls achieve chi in herds, but if one is separated from the herd it goes ballistic, destroying villages and small countries. The bulls says, "I've given up my polygamous ways... be with me." The chosen cow pats the ground, looks at her lover's muzzle, then proudly stands beside him. The other cows MOO in protest.

"Shuffle your consciousness," my shadow said, "I'm out." "We'll... I'll lose my mind," I whisper, but my shadow had already retreated to the smoking room.

A Dream: You say, "Emmet lost her way" in a dream above your bed... but as you weep with a glow worm near, you remember the bed is here, miles from a home you fear.

Chapter 10: This should have been chapter two. You describe the acts and define terms that I had to look up. You also fixate on sex, or more accurately, the diseases that accompany it. You should write a book called: 101 Ways Your **** Can Fall Off.

The Divine Image: Love all? we'll see: wear different outfits before I mutter, "fine by me..." sport peace as a dress, why not? these slacks and shirts are mothy with rot... by the way, you don't agree? this is me, not god, you see?

White Walls Stained Yellow: INT. HOTEL ROOM - NIGHT: "Put your glasses on. Harry left." So? "WHAT do YOU see?" A water damaged Bible on the floor, partially smoked unfiltered Camels snuffed out in a plastic ashtray (the lipstick stain is blue), an empty address book on a coffee table that wobbles, and a grey suit tie washed in the sink basin -- hung on the shower curtain pole. "More?" No. "Put your glasses on."

There has been an absence... Yes? They met; the Ways. Yes? Inevitable: either or. You, as I gather, seem confused. Which is better? Well, the bird was a dark pink. Maybe there is no either or. My take: the grass casts shadows, yet, each blade - I swear to you - is a vivid green. As a whole there is too much malice and joy to accept... presently. The driver's box is empty; I fill it and mumble, "Tansonville."