H A P P Y Ā T W I N Ā P E A K S Ā D A YĀ !
Diane, 11:30 a.m., February Twenty-fourth. Entering the town of Twin Peaks, five miles south of the Canadian border, twelve miles west of the state line. Iāve never seen so many trees in my life. As W. C. Fields would say, Iād rather be here than Philadelphia. Fifty-four degrees on a slightly overcast day. Weatherman said rain. If you could get paid that kind of money for being wrong sixty percent of the time, itād beat working. Mileage is seventy-nine thousand three hundred forty-five, gauge is on reserve, riding on fumes here, Iāve got to tank up when I get into town. Remind me to tell you how much that is. Lunch was, uh, six dollars and thirty-one cents at the Lamplighter Inn, thatās on Highway Two near Lewis Fork. That was a tuna fish sandwich on whole wheat, slice of cherry pie, and a cup of coffee. Damn good food. Diane, if you ever get up this way that cherry pie is worth a stop. Okay. Looks like Iāll be meeting up with the, ah, Sheriff Harry S. Truman. Shouldnāt be too hard to remember that. Heāll be at the Calhoun Memorial Hospital. I guess weāre going to go up to intensive care and take a look at that girl that crawled down the railroad tracks off the mountain. When I finish there Iāll be checking into a motel. Iām sure the sheriff will be able to recommend a clean place, reasonably priced. Thatās what I need, a clean place, reasonably priced. Oh, Diane. I almost forgot. Got to find out what kind of trees these are, theyāre really s o m e t h i n g.
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