Category Archives: The Three R’s

Chapter 11. Sunlight, nature’s best disinfectant was clearing out the last few doppler shadows…

Sunlight, as nature’s best dis­in­fec­tant, was clear­ing out the last few doppler shad­ows bridg­ing the bel­li­cose scen­esters and hair­spray gob­lins al­ready on the lurk for the lapsed chances of­fered to the quick and the dead first and then to the able and the ea­ger still catch­ing up on some great es­cape plan as they race […]

Chapter 9. Mediocrity, or powerhouse upstarts never appealed to this writer…

Mediocrity, or pow­er­house up­starts nev­er ap­pealed to this writer, my grow­ing pen­chant for ac­tu­al­i­ty ta­bles in every­thing that mat­tered, every­thing in its right­ful place, sport­ed vis­cer­al mus­cle all its own, but I was com­pelled to the awe­some place where rock sol­id dy­nas­ties swooned to the Icarian mys­ter­ies a sud­den­ly mol­e­c­u­lar un­der­dog brought in­to the scheme, a seem­ing­ly spon­ta­neous­ly […]

Chapter 8. When my firstborn left home, trimming the mouths to feed

When my first­born left home, trim­ming the mouths I had to feed from eight to sev­en, I cut back from four cups of rice to two. We ate rice near­ly every night for years. Sometimes with beans, some­times with a scram­bled meat dish. Lots of casseroles, too. Times were hard. Hello. My name is Peggy. I have known many, […]

Chapter 7. With this letter to Philip Dare I knew February was turning…

The laws in this city are clear­ly racist. All laws are racist. The law of grav­i­ty is racist. I am mak­ing this trip to Africa be­cause Washington is an in­ter­na­tion­al city, just like Tokyo, Nigeria or Israel. As may­or, I am an in­ter­na­tion­al sym­bol. Can you de­ny that to Africa? People have crit­i­cized me be­cause my se­cu­ri­ty de­tail is larg­er than the president’s. But you must ask your­self: are there more peo­ple who want to kill me than who want to kill the pres­i­dent? I can as­sure you there are. First, it was not a strip bar, it was an erot­ic club. And sec­ond, what can I say? I’m a night owl.

Chapter 6. Three nights before John Lennon was shot dead in front…

Three nights be­fore John Lennon was shot dead in front of the Dakota, and all the fret world mourned el bar­rio del cor­pus christi was rel­a­tive­ly qui­et to the most ca­su­al ob­serv­er, of whom I was one, bel­ly up to a sat­is­fied mind af­ter a quick hand­ful of tacos lengua and a wet bur­ri­to at Crackling Rosie’s end­ed the […]