My Meteorite by Harry Dodge

Author:Harry Dodge [Dodge, Harry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2020-03-17T00:00:00+00:00

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Memphis’s letter went on to describe his run-in with the halfway-house administrator and then,

. . . As it is I sweated and slaved all spring and summer, working at the edge of endurance and sanity, teetering on the brink of a nervous breakdown, really, all for naught. I put in something like a thousand-plus hours of grueling, tedious, maddeningly menial labor that now counts for nothing because I did not “complete” the program. The cruelest thing about being at that fucking place was the knowledge that at any time, whether one had completed 9% or 99%, and for any of a multitude of reasons, one could be summarily evicted. Thus has the state of California, in an unholy alliance with the Salvation Army, brought forced labor camps into vogue as a mode of “drug treatment.” I often thought, and said as much to my fellows there, that the chain gang had been brought back and, with the addition of evening A.A. meetings, had been renamed A.R.C.—Adult Rehabilitation Center. The difference is that every day served on a chain gang counts towards the total, you have a definite release date, and you can’t get kicked out for having an “inappropriate” book . . . yes, I had a book—all text—on intimacy + sexuality.

It is with some considerable trepidation that I contemplate the consequences of the beer, the cellphone and the evil book. I really don’t want to, nor do I think I deserve to, go to what I have often (with caustic, cavalier wit) referred to as the real College of Marin—San Quentin.

I’m hanging tough, Mom. And hey, if they do send me to prison, what a boon to my career as an author and auteur, what a resounding authentication of my credentials as a reckless rebel and righteous rogue! It could be like a graduate course in what I’ve thought of for years as my anthropological field study into the depths of human degradation! Ha!

We have a substantially bigger family now, don’t we? Wow. Listen: your first child found her way back to you across five separate decades, and your boy will, too. Soon. I love you, Mom! As always, your son, Memphis.

PS: I’ve got some decent lit and some educational stuff—maybe you could arrange for a G.Q. and/or Vanity Fair?

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