As a rule, I don’t pick up hitchhikers. I’ve always played things safe, not taken chances. It’s probably why I’m an insurance salesman, travelling alone — always alone — along the backroads of Louisiana. But then I see her standing… Continue Reading
They didn’t look like ordinary kids. There was something funny about the way they dressed. All alike, too monochromatic to be real. They looked like they’d just stepped out of an expressionist painting, black and white. Even the pallor of… Continue Reading
In the early 1950s all sorts of salesmen came to the door during the day. Mrs. Patterson’s habit was to personally entertain as many as she could manage. It was said in the neighborhood that the Fuller Brush man had… Continue Reading