So, yeah, ten years and three months. Only know that because Artie reminded me last week. Like drug addict in recovery, like drunk in program–except...when I fall, others do, too. Fell today. Quiet parts of me ask ‘Why?’, louder parts ask ‘When next?’. Locked in middle is me and body of suspect in most recent job. Body is innocent. Found out two minutes ago. Ten years. Three months. Two minutes. Half-second. Body and me sitting on bench in Macall Bridge Park, all the time in the world. Make no. Kenton wanted, but she messengered a copy of the folio to his hotel, as per his wishes. She didn't seem to expect anything back, but the next evening she had news."He wants it!" She grabbed me, as I entered the apartment, squeezing me hard in a hug, crushing a bag of groceries with one of those long loafs of French bread sticking out of it, that hadn't had time to set down,. "And he wants to use it for his next tour!"The next two months flew by. Mary was kept apprised of the progress the Kenton. More

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