The first thing I discovered this morning was that, again, someone had slept in my car. The front seat had been tilted back as far as it could go, and there was minty-smelling, Pepsident-like stuff smeared on the steering wheel.

I picked up the manuscript at Fritz’s. This one we will end to the Richard Curtis Agency, keeping another copy at Charlie’s. Tomorrow I’ll Xerox yet another copy for Fritz to keep.

Mailing went fairly smoothly. The only real hitch occurred after Shelly, Trevin and I got the West Oakland Post Office. When we came back from paying for Second Class, we found a spreading puddle beneath the Locus car. The radiator was leaking. We managed, with much smoke and the smell of burning grease, to make it to the loading docks. The fellow that has been helping us unload tinkered with the car, bypassed the leaky hose and fixed one other leak with a dab of oil. We made it back, but just barely.

After work, I stopped to see if there was anoyone who could fix my window, but the guy at the Chevron station just shook his head and said it was “a big job.” When I told him people were sleeping in my car he acted amazed. “I never heard of such a thing,” he said.