I wish I could recapture a bit more from my child’s eye view of the large, Asian house. The memory is a tissue thin scrim of standing by the railed porch with my father and his friends, awaiting entrance to a blurred art opening. The ambiguous
Tag: Tornado of 1975
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You know very well by now that this detective agency has a staff of one. And this one likes to wander off. I pretend at times that there is a crabby clerk to whom I am tethered. Mr. Cross, the office clerk. His sole purpose would be to answer