glow on the screen.

son-of-a-bitch, you have

no idea, it has been a

wild and lovely

ride.

now I fill my glass

and drink to it all:

to my loyal readers

who have kept me off

skid row,

to my wife and my

cats and my editor

and to my car

which waits in the

driveway

to transport me to the

racetrack tomorrow

and to the last line

I will ever write.

it has been a miracle

beyond all

miracles.

“here’s mud in your

eye!” as we used to say

in the thirties.

thank you.

action

I am upstairs in pajamas and bathrobe,

it is one a.m.

then I hear it: a woman screaming,

it sounds as if somebody is being

murdered,

there are thudding and crashing

sounds,

it’s simply brutal,

I walk down the stairway and out

the front door.

my wife remains

inside.

I walk down the driveway to the

street.

it’s across the street and 3 houses

down,

a red car appears to be parked

cockeyed, half in the drive, half

in the street,

the screaming continues

and the brutal sounds,

then the red car

veers around, points down the

hill and screeches

off.

the big kid from the corner

house

walks over to where I am

standing.

“what the hell’s

happening?” I ask

him.

“some guy breaking all

the windows out of a

woman’s car.”

“holy shit.”

the big kid had his car

shot full of holes

one night

about 6 months back

while he

slept.

the old neighborhood

is gone.

then a car roars out

of that same drive

backwards

and it goes

roaring up to the

top of the hill,

driving

backwards.

then it sits at the

top of the

hill

with the motor

running and the

lights

off.

the police arrive

then,

park their car outside

of that house,

red lights whirling.

they are talking to

some of the people

from the

house.

then the guy

at the top of the

hill

revs his engine

loudly,

slams it into gear

and roars

full speed

past the house and

down the

hill.

the cops jump into

their car,

more screeching,

it

flashes down

the hill

after him.

“nice to meet you,”

I tell the big kid,

“my name is

Hank.”

“I’m Eddie.”

we shake hands.

“gotta go, Eddie,

calm down my

wife…”

“me too, Hank,

watch your

ass.”

“you too, baby.”

I walk up the drive

and into the

house.

“what was it?”

she asks.

“love gone

wrong.”

“anybody hurt?”

“I don’t think so,

not yet.”

I sit down on the

couch next to

her.

David Letterman is

on.

he doesn’t know

what-the-hell about anything,

makes a face into the

camera.

I get up and go for

a bottle of

wine.

playtime

went to a Japanese restaurant with my

wife, she ordered tea.

I ordered beer in

the bottle, told the waiter, “no glass,”

and he stood there and asked,

“no glass?” and I responded,