Wednesday, October 30, 1985

WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 30, 1985

In the morning, I drove out to the Doughnut Land for breakfast about a quarter after seven. Then I drove east on 32 for a while trying not to think. The sky was the same color as the highway, and as the white lines passed under the car, I wondered for a second what it would be like to tap the wheel to the left when the next semi came by. After the truck rumbled past, I took a large gulp from the Styrofoam cup, then slowed and made a U-turn back towards town as soon as the road was clear.

When I phoned, I told the church’s receptionist that my name was “Carl Davidson” and that I had never been religious but felt something was lacking in my life and wanted to talk to the Reverend about it. Sometimes in this line of work you have to be a little deceptive to get people to admit things. The receptionist helpfully told me that Fowler had a meeting at the construction site of their new church but that he would be back at eleven o’clock and that she would be happy