thunderstorm had dumped half the neighborhood debris into the pool.
Elmo fished out a palm frond, a crumpled pack of Marlboros, two Bud
bottles, and a Big Gulp cup.
It was getting
up into the mid-nineties. Elmo retreated to his office, but not before
treading in another wad of gum. By eleven o’clock the heat would
crack a hundred and “air conditioned” would start flashing
on the big yellow sign out front. Somewhere around four, Tucson’s
vaunted dry heat would hit 105 degrees and turn brains to casserole.
About 4:30 the
clouds would come rolling in from the southeast, whip up some nasty
gusts of wind, roll thunder through the valley and indiscriminately
toss around lightning like nowhere else on Earth.
By 5 p.m.,
half-pint raindrops lashed at the city, and for half an hour,
Tucson’s streets would become rivers. Homebound traffic
became a snarling, confused beast. Then it would clear. The
streets would drain, the arroyos would carry water off to the
Pantano Wash and the Rillito River. By eight, the soaked city
was mostly dry. Once the storms passed, the Lamp Post would
start filling up again, and Elmo would assign rooms based on
how the occupants might entertain him.
A new science fiction novel by
date, no conslusive evidence has
emerged to prove that buying a copy of The
Lamp Post Motel cures restless leg syndrome. But stay tuned:
science marches on.
you are already afflicted with those dreaded restless legs, tale a brisk
walk to an independent bookstore, step up to the science fiction section,
and demand one or more copies of The Lamp
Post Motel (ISBN #09773676-8-9). Enlightened proprietors
will, of course, have several copies in stock, or can order you a copy—and
even a plentiful supply from Baker and Taylor.
online from Small
Press Distribution (individual or bulk copies).
the podcast here
Copyright 2006, Joe Gold
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