[Music] normally he goes clean-shaven into the world but the promise of a Saturday liquid with sunshine draws him first from his study to the backyard from there to his front lawn the smell of burning leaves stirs the memory of childhood car rides narrow lanes adrift with yellow leaves girls on plotting horses unattended stands piled high with pumpkins onions beets so that each one was in its own way has still life always there were salmon tins glinting with silver set above hand-painted signs instructing purchasers to deposit twenty-five or fifty cents this act of faith containing all the stories he had read in childhood about the north cabins left unlocked filled with supplies for hapless Wayfarers wakes in him and desire to temporarily abandon the twice cut yards and hundred-year-old Oaks he does not hurry for he has no destination he meanders instead through the suburban labyrinth of cul-de-sacs bays and circles losing and finding himself endlessly becoming lost is made all the easier because the houses repeat themselves with superficial variations there grows within him however a vague uneasy with symmetry with nothing left to chance no ragged edges no unkempt vacant lots no houses rendered unique by necessity and indifference the houses all face the Sun they have no artificial divisions there is room enough for everyone now as he passes gray stone gates the yards are all prescribed by stiff picket fences and quickly a certain untied eNOS creeps in a fragment of glass a chocolate bar wrapper a plastic horse cracked sidewalks with ridges of stiff grass although he has on blue jeans matching pants and jacket made in Paris he is driving a gray mercedes-benz gangs of young men follow the car with their unblinking eyes the young men stand and lean and tired watchful nots close to the phone booths and seedy looking grocery stores their hair glistens as though shellacked their jackets gleamed with studs Eagles Tigers wolves and serpents ride their backs he passes a ten-foot wire fence enclosing a playground bare of equipment and pounded flat the gate is double locked the fence cut and rolled into a cone three boys throw stones at pigeons paper clogs the fence like drifted snow the school is sheath in heavy screens it's yellow brick is pockmarked chipped the houses are squat as though they were once taller and have slowly sunk into the ground each has a band of dirt around the bottom the blue glow of television sets lights the windows on the front steps of a red roofed house a man sits he wears black pants a tartan vest a brown snap brimmed hat beside him is a suitcase fences here are little more than fragments cars Jam the narrow streets and he worries that he might strike the unkempt children who dart back and forth like startled fish street lights come on he takes them as a signal to return the way he came but it has been a reckless haphazard path retracing it is impossible he is overtaken by sudden guilt he has left no message for his wife there have been no trees or drifting leaves no stands covered in produce no salmon tins but time has run away with him his wife he realizes will have returned from bridge his children gathered for supper he also knows that at first they have blamed his absence on a neighbor's hospitality in gin however by the time he can return annoyance will have blossomed into alarm his safe return will he knows from childhood and years of being locked in domestic grief degenerate to recriminations and apology faced with this he decides to call the next time he sees a store or phone booth so intent is he upon the future that he dangerously ignores the present and does not notice the police car concealed in the shadows of a side street nose out and follow him ahead there's a small store with windows covered in hand-painted signs and vertical metal bars on the edge of the light three young men and a girl slouched one of the men has a beard and in spite of the advancing darkness wears sunglasses he has on a fringed leather vest his companions wear leather jackets their peaked caps make their head seem flat their foreheads non-existent the girl is better looking than she should be for such companions she's long-legged and wears a white turtleneck sweater that accentuates her breasts in spite of his car he hopes his day old beard which he strokes upward with the heel of his hand will when combined with his clothes provide immunity he slips his wallet into his shirt pocket does up the metal buttons on his jacket and slips a $10 bill into his back pocket recalling a television show he decides that if he is accosted he will say that the 10 is all he's got that he stole the car and will ask them if they know a buyer Keyes is out of the car Edge's nervously along the fender and past the grill the store window illuminates the sidewalk like a stage beyond the light everything is obscured by darkness he is so intent upon the three men and the girl that he does not notice the police car drift against the curb nor the officer who advances with a pistol in his hand when the officer who is inexperienced who is nervous because of the neighborhood who is suspicious because of the car because he has been trained to see an unshaven man in blue jeans as a potential thief and not as a probable owner orders him to halt he is surprised when he turns partway around and recognises the uniform he does not feel fear but relief instinctively relaxing certain of his safety in the last voluntary movement of his life he reaches his hand toward his wallet for his identity [Music]