The crescent review pdf epub mobi txt 電子書 下載2025

ALF WAY A GA IN<br > iii i i i i i<br >regg Cusick<br >F THERE S A TIME OF DAY WHEN I WONDER MOST WHAT THE POINT IS) I-HAT T<br >is early morning about six， the hour my dogs and many people feel charged<br >full of purpose， when the sun hits the old windows of this cabin my dad b<br >almost entirely by himself. I ll lie here on the iron cot with its loud springs<br >orsehair mattress heavy as a bundle of asphalt shingles. I ll wonder sometir<br >he didn t make himself a nice bed; and I think of him on this creaky lurr<br > with a woman and almost laugh.<br >gut it s natural， I guess， for me to look around the place and think of my d<br > he put everything here together the way it is. That， too， is full of contrad<br >~ There are the stunning eighteenth-century leaded glass windows， six-or<br >; all wavy and bubbled. Yet they re surrounded by fake-oak paneling in thJ<br >e four rooms that comes off looking cheesy， like a shortcut.<br >spent some time building houses myself， which is why， maybe， I look arou<br >a more critical eye. My father taught me a good bit about the trade thougl<br >~othing to do with putting this place together. I picked up a bunch more w0r<br >~mstruction， pounding nails down south. My dad built this cabin six years ag<br > he and my mother split. I came along later， after I sort of lost my compa<br >my dad died and nay marriage fell apart and 1 stopped drinking so muc<br >gh not necessarily in that order，<br >;o not quite a year ago I came back here， to small-town upstate New York. iV<br >n came partly at the request of my father s not-so-silent partner， more of<br >keeper， childless himself， who d said to me， laughing at the radio station<br >"Someday all of this will be yours!" So I came back and started living in th<br > and bartending at a local tavern and working also at this little AM stati0<br >e my father gave the farm reports and the ball scores and talked some politic<br >aelped people with their call-in problems for the last twenty years of his life.<br >n his element， my mother used to say. She d say this in a way that was kin(<br >Imiring----since he was doing something he really cared about--and kind 0<br >r， because the radio business had him devoting his energy to other pe0p!t <br >gets she d call them. Which wasn t really true， because he hit me more tlI<br >than I could ever count if I started right now， lying in bed， and kept up untE<br >text election.<br >io I get up about six， shower， and feed and water my two hounds. I don ttt~J~<br >he radio at this hour， though I do listen to the station at night some!i~<br >nmgs i preter the silences. Broken by grinding coffee， maybe deer rustling jn ~<br >us ou~ide， dogs collar tags jangling in time with their paces. Usuatly by s~i，~<br >~.oCOttee and newspaper and am headed into town， on my way to my On~<br >~o ~ation， - " " |<br >