The Air of Castor Oil

y itself and creased in my pocket was the newspaper account of the failure of a monumental human adventure in the blooming extinction of a huge rocket. The boys on t

ed the

It didn't come as any surprise. I could nev

rd parked just be

soned brick glued with powdering chalk. The line of the block seemed to str

ue suit and snap-brim hat, carrying a brie

I certainly wanted to

arried me on d

n jobs, I decided. Only it wasn't. I fixed the silho

y too early in the day. It wasn't as if

gold, or now, pink and lemon. In the window, in cellophane envelopes, were the first issue of Life, a recent issue of Modern Man with a mo

b. This time I recognized that it

aking me conscious of the swe