Atypical Paraphilia

Lovely drive out this morning, thinning leaves, slanted light, some fall color. I stopped at the sandstone place, bedrock exposure, looking for trilobites, and the State Cop who lives in a recreational trailer on Rt.52 pulled over to see what I was doing. I showed him a nearly perfect fossil and he was amazed. Gave him the five minute tutorial on how to see them. He allowed as how my duct-taped right front turn signal could use a new round of duct-tape. Told him I'd get on it when I got to the museum. Oh, he said, you're that writer guy that works at the museum. I have no anonymity. He knew where I lived. Shouldn't be surprised, D very nearly found my house on Google Earth. Only saved because my green metal roof sinks right into the forest; he did find the driveway. Sara had three Carter's reframed, two prints (need to find out who he worked with, the prints are exquisite) and a very nice water color, "Lone Pine". I hang the prints in the back Carter gallery on a virgin wall; the Egg Room, we call it, because Carter's big fiberglass egg is there. White egg in a black box, lit from below. The egg needs repainting, and that takes us into muddied water. If we repaint the egg, it isn't the same egg. It would then be the re-painted egg that Carter had done. I have some problems with that, but I'm a salaried employee, and will paint white whatever I'm pointed at. I even agree not to tell. I'd sign a contract. You and your silly lawyers could draw up a page, and I'd sign. I pay no attention to anything. You, and the Target of Evil.