Palmer—Can’t seem to catch you in but I hope you received last night’s phone mail. Good thing I got it off to you when I did because I had a real rough night’s sleep. Woke up three or four times at the witching hour to the sounds of what at first I thought was murder. Turned out to be some crazy pair screwing their brains out in the room next door. They must line the beds up in Normal head to head against those Sheetrock walls and all night the thumping and moaning was beyond belief. I mean this gal must’ve not had any for a good year or two by the way she was carrying on. “Yes! Yes! Give it to me! Oh, yes! Fuck me, Jesus! Fuck me! Fuck me!” Uh-oh, I hope this doesn’t get listened to by some innocent secretary or other. Anyhow, I’m all checked into Lexington now under “Lyle Maybry.” Swapped over to the MasterCard, just in case. Thought it might be safer if they happen to put a tracer on that Normal address. Hope you don’t mind. My ear’s ringing real bad tonight so I thought I’d run out to the clinic first thing in the morning and check the mare. Nothing much I could do tonight anyhow as far as new information since only the night watchman’s on duty there. I’ve been keeping in touch with Doc Roxsin and he assures me the mare’s hanging tough as best she can, although time is running out fast. I just can’t believe this ear of mine. Constant buzzing like some kind of radio interference. It’s never bothered me like this before. Must be the direct result of all those years of dove shooting, back before they ever dreamed up earplugs. Most days I don’t even notice it but lately it’s been a real constant companion. Probably put the whole thing down to age. All the parts are wearing thin. By the way, did you notice Arcaro passed away? Now there’s a real milestone. Never forget his Triple Crown year on Citation. Nineteen forty-eight, I think it was. Old “Banana Nose.” Smooth as silk. Feels strange now to be back down here in hard-boot country again. I was really looking forward to it but now that I’m here I catch the blues. Funny how that happens. Start reminiscing in my head, I guess. All those years ago when I first met Martha. It was right here at Keeneland, 1959. Hard to believe. You remember, Palmer—you were the one who dared me to ask her out for a highball and steak. That was just the beginning. Twenty-two years of pure hell. Actually, I miss her, truth be known. I don’t know why. Maybe too much road. I’ll keep trying to get through. If we don’t hook up you can always leave a message here at the desk. Remember, it’s “Lyle Maybry” now. I lose track myself.