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Show 149 EXITS In Salt Lake City autumn, the density of light changes along with the overall color of the city, and to walk down tree-laden streets just before sunset is to wade in a river of orange. I lived in a neighborhood with a lot of trees, the Avenues, and on this day, I was on my balcony watching the sunlight rest like an evaporating spill on top of the trees and buildings and houses in the valley while I waited for Steve to come over. This was three months before Steve paid $750 dollars for a .357 Magnum and sped out to the Salt Lake desert, and one month after he left me a message saying he was afraid he wasn't going to be able to come by my apartment any more, or into the Avenues at all. He said it was the only revenge he could think of for me since I'd moved from Pleasant Grove, Utah into a neighborhood where the dogs don't bark, where he could feel the yoga enthusiasm in the air, and where the cowboy hat was worn, if at all, only as an ironic accessory. Since that decision I'd been walking west three streets and meeting him in the parking lot of the bagel shop on the Avenues threshold. Steve would wait there in the back of his rusty brown pick-up track with a smile on his face and a cigarette in his hand. But on the phone this time he said he was breaking his anti- |