As I prepare to take a Greyhound up to Bemidji tomorrow, I reflect
back on my one and only previous bus excursion—San Francisco to L.A.—which
was made unbearable by a woman with a black eye and a handful of
pictures showing her and a guy named Al in various stages of undress.
Al had confronted me at the bus station and asked if I'd look after
his friend Peaches. When I said, 'No way,' this solidified Peaches
and I as fast friends—in her mind at least.
Thing is: Peaches has appeared in my first two novels and is now
taking over a third work-in-progress. Hopefully I'll find another
undeniable character on this trip. If one's gonna be miserable for
six hours, one should be rewarded.
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