…there is fifteen parallels between navigation and life…one ain’t hardly worth mentioning and I plumb forgot the other fourteen…
Monroe D. Underwood
The night wore on.
I finished reading “Skull Squadron Flies Again.”
I dug another Eagles magazine out of a backbar drawer.
The feature story was “Deathbirds of the Argonne Skies.”
Also by Arch Blockhouse.
I gave some thought to Arch Blockhouse.
Arch Blockhouse had probably been the pen name of a novice nun.
I glanced at the magazine cover.
March 1937.
By now she might be Mother Superior.
Brightside Nelson left.
I poured myself some Sunnybrook and drank to that.
Old Dad Underwood introduced the subject of astronomical navigation.
Shorty Connors said I know all about that astronomical navigation.
He said how you think I find my way home of nights?
Old Dad Underwood said there has been some times I sort of wondered about that.
Shorty Connors said I just haul out my trusty ole sexton and I get me a fix on Jupiter and before you know it I am parked smack-dab in front of 3009 Belden Avenue.
Old Dad Underwood said I think you better get your trusty ole sexton repaired.
He said you live at 3008 Palmer Avenue.
Shorty Connors said yeah but I always park on Belden and walk a block.
He said the finance company is looking for my car.
Old Dad Underwood said you ain’t been getting no fix on Jupiter.
He said you been getting a fix on the streetlight at Kimball and Barry.
Shorty Connors stood up.
He said let’s you and me just step outside.
Old Dad Underwood said don’t be ridiculous.
He said why I would dazzle you with footwork.
He said I would left-hook you to death.
He said I would reduce you to a pile of smoking debris.
Shorty Connors said I don’t want to fight.
He said I want to show you Jupiter.
They went out.
I hopped over the bar.
I sprinted to the door and bolted it.
I turned off the neon sign and dusted my hands.
Jupiter in the goddam rain.
Then I remembered the big guy.