03/24/01

I guess I’m crazy. Phebe was home from work today to be with the baby. First thing in the morning there’s this call. Phebe says it’s Dr. Hardik. She thinks the call is for an appointment. Swami says he’ll pay me a hundred dollars if I show up with my truck in Newburgh to dispense refuse posthaste. So I spent most of the day throwing out the contents of one of Swami’s vacated apartments. Lots of broken furniture full of roaches. This surly dude climbed into the bed of my truck at one point and began slicing open a soiled mattress until he found a plastic bag of what I’m guessing was crack cocaine stashed inside. He got what he wanted I guess. Left me alone. I was plenty scared though, thought I’d shit my pants. On the way to the dump I drove along the river, noticed police activity along the river bank.

Looking out across Newburgh Bay I got to thinking a little about the Phebe Reynolds story I’m supposed to writing. I was thinking how impressive it was for the Continental Army to float a great chain across the Hudson on logs the way they did at that spot. That wouldn’t be so easy to do today either even with our technology. Suppose you could have the chain links float on top a line of soiled mattresses cleaned out of Dr. Hardik’s vacated apartments spanning clear across to Beacon.

Later I heard on the radio the body of an unidentified male was pulled from the river. Maybe they found Porch Rot.