Michael Malone - Weebly

to hurt her, but, all right, thank you, excuse me." And he
left his old neighbor there to find her way out or stay, as
she chose. Upstairs in his room, where he pulled pants,
shirt, and jacket on over his pajamas, Abernathy
searched out the window for a plan. Absurd. He had
just remembered that Beanie had taken her car, and a
poet, to New York. Arthur had taken his car, and
Emerald, to Litchfield. Lance, in his car, had sneaked
out of town, probably, as he'd put it, to Gautamaula
(sp.). And he, Winslow, apparently did not have a car
of his own. A preposterous realization, but impossible
to remedy after midnight. Whom could he ask? Not
Evelyn, never get away; shouldn't involve Tracy; not
Ernest; Scaper asleep; Smalter's light was on. He'd ask
Sammy. Where were his shoes? Any shoes. He
stumbled to dial his neighbor's number.
Smalter stood on the white rococo porch, car keys
in hand, and watched Winslow Abernathy flap hurriedly
across the landscaped grass of Elizabeth Circle. He
began to talk while still in the street.
"Very good of you, Sammy. Hope I didn't wake
Ramona."