October 11th, 2003

ledbetter tat

The Secret Of Guyster's Mountain

“Do we have number thirty four?” I was squatted in front of a stack of books on someone’s front lawn at a yard sale in Hollywood. I turned my head around, squinting from the white June sun and looked at Billy, who was examining a large ceramic sculpture of a bucking horse, from the fifties.

“I don’t know. Hang on. Let me check,” he reached into his back pocket for his wallet and withdrew a small piece of paper tucked behind his driver’s license where it had been kept warm for well over two years. He unfolded the slip and silently read the list, his lips almost moving. “Nope. How much?”

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