Bushy ambled out. Pancho flew out to begin his frantic dashes in order to find, identify, and flee from the many enemies that had invaded Manhattan while he was away. I walked into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, took out a container of low-fat milk, and poured myself half a glass. I sat down at the tiny table. My body felt as if all the musculature had been sucked out. The green light on the phone machine indicated there had been messages while I was away. Pancho’s enemies. I ignored them. I sipped the milk. My hands were shaking. I was becoming agitated. Reaching for pencil and pad, I made a soothing list: 1. Pick up hat left in bar 2. Write nice note to Charlie Coombs 3. Call Anthony Basillio and thank him again 4. Buy saffron rice for Pancho 5. Cash check 6. Buy toothpaste and regular cat food I put the pencil down. It was musty in the apartment. I left the kitchen and walked to the windows in the living room—heaving both of them open as far as the cracked wood allowed.
