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Show 25, Jeffries, Islamorada [Section 2] Except for that semblance walking in on the water. He thought about that one. The beer ran in him and he thought and thought. The cherubim. Under the petticoat government. A grade school was in the building. K - 12. It was fine to see the juniors and seniors leading their little cousins through the halls. "Winston, you play the triangle. James, would you like the blocks?" The happy memory of a rhythm band. "Mr. Clayton, would you like to come to our party?" Watching them. Sociometrics out the window. The curious democracy of spin-the-bottle. So soon over. The last balloon exploded. Put on your thinking caps. "Now Mr. Clayton here wants to write. Perhaps he will have the creative force of a Charles Shultz." The four-panel mentality. The room shows an easy thirty dollars spent for graphics of Lucy, Schroeder, their hydrocephalic heads everywhere. Pig-pen, Snoo-oopy, the staff grimaces, stretching their faces, el-ed teachers with worn mime faces. Happiness is a warm puppy. These children are being set up for Rod McKuen. 'Don't dilly-dally. Don't shilly-shally.' 'That's interesting,' Mr. Clayton interrupts, 'I wonder if the children know that the latter construction is in fact a variation of 'Shall I--' 'but the teacher had walked away. From the open-air hallway, Dory would stare down at the blue Atlantic. A yacht was coming in, slowing, |
