April 17, 2014 § 1 Comment
He was painting the dining room. I was a little surprised. When I left he said he was just going to paint the pantry so that had been fine with me. Now there were drop cloths everywhere.
“Well, yes, I did, as a matter of fact.” I said. “In Death Valley, between Mormon Point and Split Cinder Cone.” « Read the rest of this entry »
March 16, 2014 § 3 Comments
“I took a break,” I said, by way of conversation.
Coyote was wearing his wire-rimmed glasses, which he always does when he is concentrating.
“I noticed,” Coyote replied, not looking up. “No judgment.”
“I had Stuff going on,” I said. I guess I was trying to get his attention.
“We all do,” Coyote shrugged. He reached into a drawer for a file folder.
June 24, 2013 § 2 Comments
I hadn’t talked to Coyote in a while, not about the blog anyway. He still hung around, looking over my shoulder when I was writing in that annoying way he has and harrumphing occasionally. In a more successful ploy to get my attention, he made me a drink – passionfruit juice mixed with an aromatic and evocative rum he knew I would recognize.
“So what do you think I should do?” I asked. The heat of the day stirred memories. Upstate New York wasn’t Saigon but it was doing its best. « Read the rest of this entry »
August 2, 2012 § Leave a comment
“Yes?” Coyote smiled. He was working on a photograph album at the dining room table.
“It’s just so wonderful to have friends like that! We haven’t seen each other such a long time and we just picked right back up where we left off!”
June 21, 2012 § Leave a comment
“So how’s that novel coming?” Coyote inquired. Innocently. He was reading a newspaper, which I found quaint.
“Why does everyone have to ask me that?” I was counting stitches to figure out where I had dropped one.
“Oh, just curious, I guess.” He pushed his glasses back up a little way on his nose. If he had had a mob cap he would have borne a striking resemblance to the Wolf impersonating Grandmama. Or so it seemed to me in that moment. « Read the rest of this entry »
June 1, 2012 § 2 Comments
“Does what?” Coyote asked. He was mixing a drink. I’m not sure what was in it but the bottle he was using had a faint green tinge. At least from where I was sitting.
“Keep writing all those scary stories that everybody loves so much,” I said, eyeing the bottle.
“Well, I didn’t think much of Cujo,” he said, looking through the liquor cabinet for something else.
“Oh?” I wondered why there was only one glass.
“Lacked subtlety,” he said, opening the fridge. “Do we have any limes?” « Read the rest of this entry »
May 18, 2012 § 1 Comment
“What’s the problem?” Coyote looked up from his novel. Tony Hillerman, I noticed.
I myself was reading about a murder in Savannah, Georgia, and I was keeping track.
“Well, it just seems like some people have a prejudice against them and I am pretty sure it’s not justified.” I was afraid I was picking a fight but I didn’t care. I wanted to get this straightened out.
“Listen to this, for instance,” I continued before Coyote could get a word in. “It’s a sentence in this book I’m reading. ‘This was the hole allegedly made by Danny Hansford during his rampage through the house a month before he was killed.'” « Read the rest of this entry »