“The wind roared at the windows like a hungry beast and the humidity weighed you down; dawn came slowly, gray and windy, but the sun followed, turning the freeway a salmon pink, and the wind and I sat on the balcony staring into the spaces between me and the downtown towers. My mind refused to attack. I called Archie and we arranged to meet at Norway Creek for breakfast. He was cool and fresh in a seersucker jacket, collar open with some white chest hair curling up toward his throat, mustache tr...immed, white hair slicked back, a paisley silk square in his jacket pocket. My nose still throbbed. He listened quietly, carefully operating with knife and fork on his eggs Benedict, as I told him the story of my Chicago adventures and the sad conclusions I’d drawn. When I lapsed into silence, he motioned toward my plate and told me to eat. Outside a foursome was coming up the fairway and spiked shoes clattered on the veranda. The sun was unnaturally bright. It made my eyes ache. “Well, you’ve turned the key, I think, yes, you have.”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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