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From the vault

Johnny & his daughter, Tara, around the time I wrote this. 

yeah hmmm.... 1987 or thereabouts.... pretty sure I never typed this up before... I instantly knew who T was & so did Maggie, when I showed her this. This is my life now: reading old work & trying to decide what I think about it. 



Miniature Men


I can't sleep tho I'm too lazy to even plug in the TV—it only works by plugging it in as the switch is broken & it only gets 1 or 2 channels or are they stations? I was asleep for 1 1/2 hours then a cough woke me. I must have lung cancer but Maggie says no it's just allergies people without allergies have them this year. She gives me 2 codeine, I take one & it makes me nauseated, she gives me a bottle of violently red vicks & a swig of green dream, her invented drink of mint, seltzer & who knows what else. It looks like regurgitated compost but is surprisingly quenching. What if they made cough syrup in as many color names as nail polish?


What kind of person writes a letter to the editor? Maggie asks.


A concerned citizen, I say.


No! she says. A crackpot!


I defend T—'s right to write a letter to the editor & explain that I have often thought of doing the same thing. What did you write to the editor about? I ask T.


Well, you see, he launches, Reagan — 


Wait! I interrupt. Anyone who writes a letter to the editor about Reagan IS a crackpot.


He is offended & I have to explain about Thatcher & unemployment & beyond hope before he stops with that pissy face.


Then I read a story in a magazine  about a couple who didn't acknowledge their pregnancy till a month before the baby was born. And someone says, We don't see each other enough to fight.


We see each other plenty, as we fight all the time.


Oh Johnny, let's not fight! Tell my troubles to the crackpot & kiss me quick. C'mon, let's make the universe jealous.


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