karenâ€™s driving me through her old neighborhood, taking me to see where she lived beforeâ€”weâ€™ve got a photograph of a big white house and her stories of all the people who lived there, but now thereâ€™s only an empty lot and I find it hard to believe that whole house fit there.
when I get into the driverâ€™s seat, I have to reset all the adjustments sheâ€™s made.
I lose my car in a parking ramp.
I look into the eyes of an ill-shorn guy and say, wow.
I show up at a party everyoneâ€™s been planning, and it turns out itâ€™s for me, and Iâ€™m ashamed and embarrassed and start backing out of the room. I say to sue ann, you really should write a book of comedic essays, and she gives me a funny look and pulls out her book which has just been published earlier in the year and which I should have known about.
I dig a little ways into the hillside behind my house and open up a whole underground system of tunnels and dirt-carved pathsâ€”a rabbit warren, I think at first, but it quickly becomes clear that george has been going down the tunnels and making use of itâ€”first I notice the size of the dug paths, george-sized rather than rabbit-sizedâ€”and then I start to notice the corruptionâ€”itâ€™s full of piles of dog shit, just everywhere, and worse, the stink and moisture have collected and compounded, and an evil-looking red mold has begun to grow and spreadâ€”so at first what looks like a cool, mysterious underground world to explore becomes something I loathe the very idea of stepping into, a problem to solve, a mess to clean up, which I hadnâ€™t even realized was there, somehow.