Hop Alley
“That I was secretly relieved to be free of her does not make me proud, but the fact that it had been years since she’d crossed my mind must have been a sign that our union would have been an unhappy and impermanent one.
On the night of the riot, though, I dreamt of her. That she was alive in this dream and that we were standing on a Denver sidewalk was all that I recalled upon awaking, and that I was shouting, “I deserted for you,” so loud my throat was raw as I sprung from bed, winded and swinging my fists at the empty air. I would not sleep again that night.
The house was silent but for the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer, which showed the time to be after four. I dressed myself and roused Lemuel.
“What the hell?” he asked.
“Wake up, lad,” I told him. “Time to earn your pay.” He lay there, bleary, and I did most of the work loading up the chemicals and the dark tent, then packing up the stereographic camera.
“What’s all that for? How are you figuring to take pictures at night?”
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