John Updike

Red dusty roads, white clapboard frames falling off of dilapidated houses, one story houses with views low enough from a bystander standing at the road to be able to see the valley over them,  in between rolling mountain hills of a lonely town where tire wheels are more likely to roll over dust and rocks then pavement smeared with gum on which ambitious people hurry, elbow to elbow, to work.: what I think of when I pass the cheap laminate and glass bookcase where I first found a copy of Rabbit at Rest, and when I pass the tall palm trees at a golf resort of where Updike wrote about Rabbit retiring.   If Rabbit’s  legs could really run fast then I’d feel for a moment that I was him, that animal, moving in rewind from the chainlink fences around the Floridian basketball park where he was an athelete at 60, to the thick smoky air of the mills in the blue collar towns of the mid-Atlantic.


About Teetsiefly

If I were a purple piece of chalk I'd write on the sidewalks, on people, funny things I hear and sayings that I make up, which are stuck in my head....I'll only stay up late if its to write something funny, I read more than clean, and I don't blink an eye when my cats wake me up in the middle of night to water spilled over my already water-stained Abbie Hoffman bad bio from Half.Com. Have a pencil? I can draw over your grey areas with some fancy verbal color...
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