The in-law apartment in Flagstaff was atopthe proper house, on a hill, and when the landlords
boarded their Winnebago, our summerjob was to read P. G. Wodehouse to the figurines,
with feeling. Otherwise, we were forbiddento hang around the owner’s abode, though one
afternoon, fevered, I sought their cooler roomsout and found, in a darkened den, a chintz throw
on a sofa, and below, a load of Smith & Wessons.I took riflery in school, and Marriage 101, so
I know what chintz looks like, and what the endof the road resembles, and seeing those guns I also
saw myself that time I was two-timing in the heart-land and hid in the cab of a blue pickup,
under a tartan rug, at the video store, wheremy clandestine love was checking out…