“Capp didn’t tell me we were having company this morning, but when the bell rings, she flies to the door as if she’s been waiting all her life. The man’s a bit of a hippie with long, wavy blond hair and an unkempt beard.“Liza, this is Satan.” She says his name with such assurance I can’t be sure I’ve heard her correctly. She articulated the “Sate” part far better than the “tan” part—and given his looks, he might be named “Seat-Man” or “Slaton.”“S-A-T-A-N?” I ask. He nods. I nod back. Am I missin...g something? Mrs. Capp did tell me, a few days ago, that she met a man while browsing through the record store downtown. “Nice-looking,” she said. “And very knowledgeable about percussive jazz.” She mentioned she might have him over sometime. But she didn’t warn me that he was coming this morning.“Nice to meet you,” I say. I’m still in my pajamas, reading the newspaper. In large, gothic font across the top of the front section are the words nine dead in bus collision.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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