Issue 134, Spring 1995
Do writers ever come down here to see you?
Yes. Henry Miller came one time. My mother said he’d never enter my house. We had him for three days. I got two or three boyfriends to help me with him and drive the car and protect me from God only knew what my mother thought. They were going to give him a glass automobile, from which he could see out and they could see in. He didn’t come in a glass automobile, but he came anyway.
I’ve never even seen a glass automobile, have you?
What a shame that Doubleday didn’t build one for him.
Well, I wish they had.
Did you like Mr. Miller?
Not much, he was so dull. He never looked at anything. I guess he was bored by being in Mississippi. That day they were going to move the hospital for the insane down on North State Street to the next county, to a bigger place. The patients were helping move themselves. I thought that that would be …