Fail

I pulled up in front of Happy Acres Manor, killed the engine and picked up Dawn, Phil Elvrum’s subtle inspirational diary of his days in the relative isolation of a Nordic cabin hiatus. One of Grandpa Munster’s co-residents left the shelter of the Porch of Ash and Smoke, and wandered through the rain toward the passenger door. No, I don’t have a cigarette to spare, or money. Nor can I give you a ride somewhere today.

I just stared at the book, not absorbing the words while the faceless interloper eased into the periphery.

He knocked on the window. I hit the window button and turned to face him. It was a man I had not encountered there before. He had a plump face and wore the strangest mittens I’ve ever seen. “Are you waiting for someone?” he asked.

“Oh… I’m just waiting for Grandpa Munster. But he’s probably eating lunch and then he’ll be out. It’s okay, I’m in no hurry.”

“Okay!” he said pleasantly and turned and ambled away. I saw he wore no socks on his feet. He was wearing them on his hands. He lumbered back to the manor and up the steps and out of the rain and into the house. I suspected (correctly, I later verified) that he was off to give Gramps the message that his friend was waiting outside. I wept.