About Town

Forgive me, for I have signed. Up early, and it's not as cold, mid-twenties maybe. Pegi asked me to stay, in case a new leak recurred. Make a pot of coffee, wash my hair and shave in a warm bathroom, then walk over to Market Street for a breakfast wrap, which they do there in some style. I've measured, inside where the water was actually dripping, though with roof leaks this information is notoriously useless, especially in roofs that are EPDM membranes. Still, one needs a place to start. To further complicate the search, the immediate area, above, where the leak drips, below, is in a space comprised of "crickets" (built up sections of underlayment) that direct water toward a scupper (a hole in the parapet) so that it might escape. I spend several hours, to no avail, looking for a crack or hole or flashing failure. Lunchtime I go over to the pub for a pint and something to eat. They serve Shepherd's Pie on the weekend and reduce the price on Monday to get rid of the left-overs. Huge hot bowl of meat and vegetables with a mashed potato crust. I eat myself into a coma for 5 bucks. After lunch I walk over to the library, then down below the berm and floodwall at Glover Street and along the banks of the Ohio. A pair of muskrats in a debris filled eddy, not as elegant as otters, but plenty interesting to watch. I'm squatted on the riverbank, watching them frolic, under the new bridge, at the edge of a small parking lot where there's a kid's playground, and a city cop drives up, wonders what I'm doing there. I point out the muskrats, roll him a smoke, he squats and watches them with me for a few minutes. We talk about night-fishing for catfish, strickly catch-and-release, you can't eat bottom feeders when the bottom is toxic sludge, but that doesn't mean you can't enjoy the contest. Four and twenty blackbirds, baked in a pie. I'd better go, next thing you know I'm eating Bambi.