only get to learn after years of winoing in alleys east and west.
Still the same, the fog is blowing over the walls of the canyon obscuring the sun but the sun keeps fighting back—The inside of the cabin with the fire finally going is still the dear lovable abode now as sharp in my mind as I look at it as an unusually well focused snapshot—The sprig of ferns still stands in a glass of water, the books are there, the neat groceries ranged along the wall shelves—I feel excited to be with the gang but there’s a hidden sadness too and which is expressed later by Monsanto when he says “This is the kind of place where a person should really be alone, you know? when you bring a big gang here it somehow desecrates it not that I’m referring to us or anybody in particular? there’s such a sad sweetness to those trees as tho yells shouldnt insult them or conversation only”—Which is just the way I feel too.
In a gang we all go down the path towards the sea, passing underneath “That sonofabitch bridge” Cody calls it looking up with horror—“That thing’s enough to scare anybody away”—But worst of all for an old driver like Cody, and Dave too, is to see that upended old chassis in the sand, they spend a half hour poking around the wreckage and shaking their heads—We kick around the beach awhile and decide to come back at night with bottles and flashlights and build a huge bonfire, now it’s time to get back to the cabin and cook those steaks and have a ball, and there’s McLear’s jeep already arrived and parked and there’s McLear himself and that beautiful blonde wife of his in her tight blue jeans that makes Dave say “Yum yum” and Cody just say “Yes, that’s right, yes, that’s right, ah hum honey, yes.”
