Pumpkins have appeared in store windows and the days have gotten so short that on Friday, when I lieft waork an hour late, it was almost dark. The fleet is in town and on the walk home that night I passed on Clay near Polk a gaggle of boys in uniform, dark green, with square caps. They looked very young to me, all downy cheeks and round chins.

The next day, while I was walking down California, I heard a sound over my head as though the sky were being slowly ripped in two, and looked up to see the blue bellyt of a jet, frighteningly close. For the next few hours the Blue Angels dove, pitched and barreled overhead, the sound of their passing more overwhelming than the sight of those tiny, sharp-looking jets flying in formation. It’s like reality is being torn open. I expected to see the sky, the clouds, and the tall buildings all around me collapse like a painted backdrop around a black gash. When I got back to the apartment I could see people standing on their roofs, some of them with binoculars. I was content to stay inside and occasionally peek out throught the blinds.

Michael spent the day watching baseball. “You bastard! You incompetent! You useless F*ck!” he’d yell at the TV before running into the kitchen to call a friend and vent.

Yes, children, in the old days of the last century, the phone was tethered to an outlet and YOU had to go to IT. Phone conversations could only take place in our kitchen.