“Most of these yuppie haciendas had been built fairly recently, after the California and Texas money flooded into the real estate market and sent prices floating skyward. Twenty years ago this had all been windswept arroyos and sunswept trees. The only occupants had been the coyotes and the rattlesnakes. The coyotes were gone now, and the rattlesnakes had become investment bankers. At the bottom of the hill, at the Stop sign, the road met Washington Street, and I crossed this and drove along the... asphalt entrance to the Fort Marcy sports complex. I parked the wagon in the lot, the engine coughing twice. It was two o’clock. The air was warm and the sky was blue. A few men and women in shorts and sweatshirts were running doggedly around the damp dirt track that circled the field. Inside, I took a shower first, and sudsed myself up like Lady Macbeth on a bad morning, then spent a long time letting the scalding spray sluice off the soap. I didn’t feel dirty, exactly, after my time with Justine Bouvier; but I didn’t feel exactly clean, either.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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