Reggie Lauderdale is packed with voltage, longing to write the truth. He raids through the kitchen drawers, searching for paper and pens. Reggie discovers matchbooks and plastic cutlery and receipts and orphaned bolts and lint and Christmas gift tags. Eventually he unearths a bouquet of pens.
Reggie sighs and tramps upstairs to the red bedroom. He plops down at the vanity, yanks open a drawer and sees a tin recipe box. Reggie tells himself, No. Dolly never cooked anything. She hired caterers. Inside, he finds countless blank cards.
No. Dolly never cooked anything. She hired caterersReggie now has paper. Reggie now has ink. His innards jounce and rattle. He begins to write.
Betterment
Time.
Cruelty.
Manners.
Work.
Beauty.
Goodness.
Right now.
I watch while Reggie Lauderdale scraw
