Yes, I’ve begun stealing. Since Logan (‘s body below his neck) left me, there’s an emptiness that can’t really be satisfied, except once in a while…I find myself looking for something, and in the looking and the taking of that something, I have a few minutes of completion. Then, and sometimes also when I’m dancing at the dance barn. Or I might forget about things while leaning across the counter, plate in hand, calling out for another slice key-lime-lemon meringue.

I would never take anything of value, or steal from friends, and in fact I don’t want anything I can use: I would never, for instance, steal from Ideal Clothes and Housewares. I sometimes steal from Home Depot – a gasket for my tap, or a stainless-steel screw like the kind Logan used to use for his hang-glider. If I were a better wife, I’d rig up something so I could harness his head to his wings once in a while. I’d let him fly, and see him smile again. Mostly I steal from Publix. Not for me. I’m too chicken to actually grab up a Tofurky or a wheel of cheese. But I steal. A yeast packet. A tiny box of trick birthday candles. Once I stole a 4-ounce container of candied fruit. I bring these things to the pie shop and mix them in with the regular stock of supplies.

So, am I contributing to a better community? I’m not Robin Hood; I know this isn’t a good thing. And now that Bjean knows, will she think I’m adding to eternal happiness by keeping costs down (a tad)? Or will she fire me? Banish me from the pie shop? Or will I be exiled from this closer-than-average-to-perfect community as a lawbreaker in a place which, but for my transgression, is crime-free?

But Logan is Logan, and the hole in me hasn’t been filled since I lost most of him. If not here, in this safe place, where will I go to try to fill the emptiness? Am I spiraling ever downward into an abyss of perversion? Am I experimenting with a gateway crime – one that leads to ever grander thefts, like going from stealing seed packets to hijacking an American Harvester tractor? Will it lead to involvement with organized crime, bribery, maybe even murder in the dark recesses of another, less perfect, city?

Can I have a wedge of cheddar with my apple pie?

(L. Sternberg)
Vicki, Michael, Susanna

All the old paintings on the tombs
They do the sand dance don’t you know
If they move too quick (oh whey oh)
They’re falling down like a domino

All the bazaar men by the Nile
They got the money on a bet
Gold crocodiles (oh whey oh)
They snap their teeth on your cigarette

Foreign types with the hookah pipes say
Ay oh whey oh, ay oh whey oh
Walk like an Egyptian

Blonde waitresses take their trays
They spin around and they cross the floor
They’ve got the moves (oh whey oh)
You drop your drink then they bring you more

All the school kids so sick of books
They like the punk and the metal band
When the buzzer rings (oh whey oh)
They’re walking like an Egyptian

All the kids in the marketplace say
Ay oh whey oh, ay oh whey oh
Walk like an Egyptian

Slide your feet up the street bend your back
Shift your arm then you pull it back
Life is hard you know (oh whey oh)
So strike a pose on a Cadillac

If you want to find all the cops
They’re hanging out in the donut shop
They sing and dance (oh whey oh)
Spin the clubs cruise down the block

All the Japanese with their yen
The party boys call the Kremlin
And the Chinese know (oh whey oh)
They walk the line like Egyptian

All the cops in the donut shop say
Ay oh whey oh, ay oh whey oh
Walk like an Egyptian
Walk like an Egyptian

Oh, really. You can finish this for me. If we polled the swing dancers, we’d have thousands of opposites to love and loving behavior. Open your arms. Open your legs. Stand still as the light approaches or jump out of the way. Isn’t this the danger we’re trying to avoid? I’m going to dance now.

“The Ponzi State” to see why, when the rest of the country recovers over, let’s say, the next 10 years, South Florida will still be in a housing slump.