Marty was unconscious. There was nothing Ted could do. Maria came in to visit. She sat holding Marty’s hand, speaking to him quietly in Spanish. Ted went home, back to his place, where his mechanical fish did not need to be fed. All he brought with him from Marty’s house was the notebook, “The Doublemint Man.” He said hi to Goldfarb. Goldfarb played it cool as usual.
He reread his dad’s novel/journal/whatever again and again. Puzzled over where it stopped. Right in mid-sentence, “They were…” like it was calling to him over the years to complete the sentence. Ted grabbed a pen, sat by the window, and waited for the words to come. He lit up a joint with his Grateful Dead lighter and waited for the high words. Here they came, here they began. Ted put pen to old paper and began to make shapes, and those shapes became letters, and those letters became words.