Letters to My Agent

Curtain opens on small kitchen, glass door to backyard smudged with dog nose prints, bright Mexican oilcloth on table. Dirty dishes and a  vase of sunflowers. Covered dish with melted butter oozing out the sides. This is AUSTIN, TEXAS, 1952, summer. Radio announcer cries: Oh, it’s a hot one! Gonna be over 100 again for [...]