Friday, April 17, 2009
A rumpled Daily Telegraph gets stuffed into the letter box every day. It always comes at a different time. He has an arrangement, a local contact I gather, who makes the drop. Someone called Tindsley, English chap—that's all I know. The filthy thing lies where it lands on the floor every day waiting for my father to pick it up He'll read it. Doesn't matter how used it is. He doesn't care.
Posted by A wandering vein at 3:30 AM