Putnam’s head appears in a spare bedroom’s window. He shakes hair out of his handsome eyes. Looks from his left to right. Doesn’t see me. Studies the layout of the land: tool shed, stairs, two balconies, lots of stairs, trees, brush. Still doesn’t see me in hiding. Rubs the side of his nose. Eventually he slips away from the window and I return home. Maybe only one of us is happy with our finds.
* * * *
The following day I have off from the library and Mr. Gray pulls me out of a nap. I roll off the sofa and see two eighteen- or nineteen-year-old handsome lads walk down Racin Street. They carry white pamphlets in their hands, pushing their Mormon religion on Fairmont residents. Both have fuckable pink lips, broad shoulders, no-fat bodies, and tight asses. These two innocent men will accid
