His life spread out behind him, below
him, as he climbed toward Nevada. He stopped for gas, looked at the
stands of Douglas fir, and decided to spend the night in Tahoe.
He was pleased when he coasted into town. The lake was clear blue. The
streets were impersonal and commercial; he had credit cards; he knew
the rules. He signed for a room and strolled down the main street, his
small notebook and pen secure in his jacket pocket. The air was
sharper. Winter was coming, very different up here. He looked around
for a place to eat.
"Got any spare change?" The meaning of the words and the sound of the
voice were like light blows to opposite sides of his head. He turned,
disoriented. "Hey, Art," Penn said.
"Is that you, Penn?" Arthur struggled to reconcile the young man in his
mind with the man in front of him. Penn's hair was thinning. He needed
a shave.
"Indeed so. You are looking a bit crazed, Arthur. You need a drink to
acclimatize."
"I just got here." Penn seemed to know that. "I--maybe you're right.
Will you join me?"
"I could force down a single-malt."
"Lead the way. It's good to see you, Penn." They sat at the end of a
polished bar in one of the smaller casinos.
"Feels strange to sit on a bar stool," Arthur said.
"You get used to it. As an ex-doc, let me toast your health."
"Thank you. And yours." There was a moment of silence--appreciation for
the Glenlivet and a chance to think back.
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