The Last Annual Slugfest
“There was a proprietary quality in Hooper’s stance and his voice. He was not a tall man, but he was solid. One day that solidity would spread to fat. Whenever I saw him as I read his meter on my H-2 route, his long dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail. And his clothes—plaid wool shirt, thick brown sweater, and jeans—had, as always, the look of Salvation Army issue. It had struck me more than once that, in spite of his garb, he bore what seemed an internal resemblance to Edwina Henderson. Per...haps it was the suggestion of pent-up energy, or the very tobacco brownness of the hair and eyes, that warned you to be on guard. With Edwina, you had a good idea what causes she would be pushing or what groups she’d be protecting, and her nicotine- and caffeine-spurred intensity had followed fairly set lines. With Hooper there were no such boundaries. It was impossible to tell from a glance what extreme of mood he might be in. Now, as he stood under the branches of the two giant redwoods, he looked at home—and ready to fight for that home.MoreLess
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