New Nice And Cool Cars Racing

New Nice And Cool Cars Racing

He was thinking about perhaps stopping his drinking; it was robbing him of his energy, ambition, but he loved it so. Getting drunk in the cornfields among those tall yellow stocks and singing and the train whizzing by, and the crows flying overhead, was better than anything he could think of, no one had ever offered him anything better anyhow, that is, nothing better that could replace his drinking, not even Elvis or the Beatles could have offered him a better life than those cornfields did. So he didn't like seeing summer leave, and winter come, and when it came he hopped it would dissipate quickly.

When he got really drunk, it all smelled, and felt, so lovely, the wet grass and weeds, dray cornstalks, the mud, the dirt, everything, anything, he drank in those cornfields until the last day of fall per near. Drinking had done all that. It was perhaps not right, but he didn't have San Francisco, like Poggi to remember, or a guitar like Elvis, or a dog to keep him company.

Shannon walked through the doorway, into the living room, "Gertrude!" he yelled, "it's me, your husband, I'm home."
She didn't answer. Maybe, she really wanted a small house after all, he thought; this place was pretty big, pretty hard to clean. You never can tell with women, plus he could feel a draft coming through the window on the side of the house in the living room. His amigo, Manuel Garcia, had just such a place for sale; he was retiring from the foundry. He had told him once, a year or two ago, if he knew of anyone looking for a small house, the size of a large garage. Poggi had told him all the houses in San Francisco were expensive, if he would move out there he'd have to buy a small house. Only the rich could afford a house like he had in Minnesota, out in Frisco, as he often called the city by the bay. After the Korean War, things changed, houses doubled in price.

"Gertrude!" he called out again, "Gertrude!" No one responded. There was no one in the house, he stood stone-still, in his round obesity, in his own abandoned house, then come the sharpness of the Shannon ears, and he could always hear the most quiet of whispers, but he heard naught.