NOVEMBER 6, 1934
ONLY ONE LEAD LEFT in the case of the fabulously swinging chickadee’s missing brother or whoever.
Welcome to the Mat Public Library. What a steaming garbage pile. I’ve seen more variety of books in piles outside Nuremberg.
Wait. Have I? Or is that just an expression? Seems like an odd turn of phrase.
Librarian was your usual type. Gray as a ghost, hair up in Manchukuo-style chopsticks or some such, glasses as thick as my thumb. I would’ve laid it on a little thicker, but I knew how gray and sallow my skin was getting. I wasn’t much to look at. Still passing, but not much to look at. My gums were black enough to scare breathers, and when I wasn’t paying attention, my neck sometimes twisted at awkward angles. That wasn’t too bad in the grand scheme of things. Some of our
