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Habitual Prodigal As always she'd materialise suddenly from nowhere and yet everywhere, after long arbitrary and capricious absences, to turn up suddenly at the Hamburg Inn, or at Gabe's, or the Deadwood or at Mama's in Iowa City; and when I'd say, "Where have you been?" a tumble of irrelated place names would erupt: Atchafalaya, Jackson Hole, Nacogdoches, Port St. Joe, Quebec City (why Quebec City?) "Why Quebec City?" I'd ask, but there was always more-- Brisbane and Tasmania, and various locales throughout Sea Asia, the subcontinents, and on and on, et cetera, reciting still more places that drained me of geography (world traveller tho I was). "And where to next?" I'd say, and she'd say there was never any Next, just rest stops from time to time at the Hamburg Inn. |
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