Recap: Dear Miss Jackson

Special Thanks to Tom V

The Police Notwithstanding

Midway through the evening’s event I scurried out with some writers to covertly set up the night’s stunt. We slogged across a vacant gravel lot, carrying two mannequins, and in the darkest corner ran into … the heat. The guard asked our intentions. Our intentions, officer? Only to set up a male and a female mannequin dressed in white, douse both with the luminous contents of four dozen glow sticks, then pelt them with rocks in the darkness.

“Well, you know this is private property,” said the guard, “and the neighbors are persnickety.”

When was the last time you heard the word persnickety?

The guard said he had to leave for a few minutes—which seemed like code for, “Do your stupid stunt before I get back, okay?” And he drove off. We raced back to The Cavern and herded everyone outside with their rocks. Mannequins were duly destroyed.

A Note to Tom Vandel

You left early, giving me a copy of your letter. A letter written by a youthful Charlie Manson to The Lottery writer Shirley Jackson. We forgot to mark your name off the list. Krissy called you up to read, and your story was among the favorites of the night. Nothing a bar crowd likes more than a serial killer inciting a Race War. I volunteered to read the story cold, and you’d written the story so well that even a first-timer couldn’t screw it up.

You missed a wonderful round of applause. Good work. A terrific story, Tom. You should be proud. Take a bow.

Some Housekeeping

To Anthony C. The last address I have for you is the one on Maplegrove Avenue. This week I’ll get a book sent off, okay? Sorry for the delay.