Page 5 - The Myth and the Moment

Morning

and mechanism are just too convenient as metaphors of human
affairs; people are quick to impute a structure or design to events
objectively chaotic and happenstance. It’s the old reification game:
I’m a thing, you’re a thing, that’s the tune we love to sing. Well, I’m
sure I’ve done that to death already: another variation on the
mythology theme. Boy, it feels good to be so close to wrapping it up!
All right, enough procrastination, Nathan old bean; the file is safe in
the drawer, so check your keys and wallet, turn off the lights, and
shut the door.
Ah, she’s back in her lair; I can hear the TV. I wonder what
percentage of her mental activity is actually dedicated to
comprehending the soap opera in front of her face, and how much of
her brain continues to crank out rent deposits, utility bills, and tax-
deductible expenses applicable to income property. And is there not
still a third, more primitive, slice of her ever-wakeful Cerberus
cerebellum, listening for familiar foot-falls in the halls of hell? Come
on, Nate baby: The Brack Arms provide far from heavenly
accommodations, but it’s not quite the end of the line. Park Villa,
across the street there, is closer to the bottom of that particular pit. I
can’t believe I almost moved into that rat-trap just to save a couple of
bucks. Might wind up there yet, if I’ve miscalculated the cost of
photo-engraving.
God, it’s hot out here! These heat-waves crest for days.
Somewhere out in the desert the oven door has opened, and the king
demands dessert. Us. Human beings melting onto manhole covers
like lumps of lard on a griddle. And those new office buildings:
they’re pressure cookers, thin-skin walls of steel and glass. The
Indians, even the raving Spaniard missionaries, they all knew how to
insulate. Put a solid yard of mud brick between you and the sun. Cool
in the summer, warm in the winter; low energy, low maintenance.
Probably low profit, as well, for the builders. Definitely not a growth
industry. Corner of Eighth and Alvarado; four more blocks to the
yard. Last chance to get a burrito for breakfast: eat it in the truck.
“Si. Yes?”
“Ah, give me a beef and bean burrito.” It’s already wrapped,
mummified in tissue paper. All these unrelated subjects of the plant
and animal kingdoms, too weak to resist, so cut down in their prime:

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