I'm not going to (or coming to depending where you're reading from) Frostburg for the holiday. Kim is already there and during her train ride along the Potomac she texted me to let me know that a woman sitting near her was reading The Maintenance Man, a novel by Michael Baisden. Never heard of him Churls? Well here's an enticing description from Am*zon:
The Maintenance Man is an intriguing novel about love, betrayal, and of course, sex. Michael paints a dark picture of his main character, Malcolm, who is a high-priced gigolo struggling with his morality. He is conflicted with his promiscuous lifestyle and his desire to pursue his dream as a pianist. While on an appointment with one of his wealthy clients, he meets a beautiful and gifted dancer named Antoinette, Toni for short. She recognizes his incredible talent and encourages him to go after his dream. But Toni is unaware of Malcolm's unsavory occupation. And trying to keep it undercover only adds to the drama.Anyway, I know that I'm going to miss everyone in Frostburg but alas, not coming up feels like the right thing to do. I'm hoping to visit sometime in February when work slows down a bit and I'm not so preoccupied with the state of the dumpster. There's a batch of people I haven't seen or spent any really good time with for a few years (Allison, Rob and Kimmie, Max, Katharine, Grace, Leon...) and I may look into arranging a dinner. For the time being I was looking over a bunch of snaps procured during my most recent visit. Here are a few (realize that Frostburg is snowy now, not bright and sunny like it was in October) from that time for me as a remedy for not being there.
Looking at these pictures of Frostburg alleys and the hallway off of Mechanic Street, makes me think of when I returned to Frostbug after having spent a year travelling, living in my car with Annabelle, and in general not being in places as confined as this. When I arrived back in Frostburg after a year and an 18 hour speed-fueled drive from Manhattan, Kansas I turned right onto Water Street (I took Rt. 40 back as much as possible) and was shocked by how narrow the streets of Frostburg were. Turning onto Water Street was liking driving through a canyon compared to the 120' wide streets of where I had been living.