The sun is bright. By the time I’ve reached the top of the street I am damp with perspiration. I unzip my snowsuit as far as my navel to let the air circulate. The world has taken on a mild hallucinatory aspect, as though I am viewing a quiet avalanche of things through a clear but solid barrier, a pane of glass. On the way into town I think about the new name I have chosen and how it both binds me to and isolates me from this remote, shimmering world. At the bank Derringer rises to greet me. “Run out in a hurry this morning?” He looks me up and down, extends his hand across the desk. “You forgot your shoes. Sit down. Make yourself comfortable. Can I get you some coffee?” “No thanks.” I reach into the inside pocket of my suit and take out the documents from the court. They are limp and wilted looking. Derringer has seated himself in his fake leather chair and removes the yellow ball from the top drawer of his desk. He sits back, squeezing the little orb. “What can I do ya fer today?”
