Umney's got out of bed at 7:30am one L.A. spring morning. He can smell the exhaust of the vehicles from where he is and the smell is Oleander. He thinks of Peoria Smith, the blind paperboy, was standing in his accustomed place on the corner of Sunset and Laurel, and if that didn't mean God was in His heaven and all was jake with the world, Umney didn't know what did.
He go on to do the things he used to do that they. He prepared himself for work and expect to meet Peoria in his usual spot down the street. Peoria Smith was all right, just as always, and he'd recognized Umney by my walk even though it was at least an hour before his usual time.
After the greeting in the morning dew, and Umney's regular newspaper, Peoria gave the news that his Mom won the lottery in Tijuana and that they are rich!
Of course Umney didn't believe the boy. He said that Peoria may be old enough to know the difference between daydreams and what's real, but it's not old enough for that kind of talk. That sounded right. And that he is sure that the boy only pulling his sleeves. He must have made a mistake, because if it was true, then Peoria wouldn't be standing here anymore when Umney came by.
They've had an exchange of word. Peoria mentioned that he would not have come in that corner earlier that usual to tell his friend, Mr. Umney, that he is now rich (and insisting that he be called Francis, because that is his name) but in the end it finished with Peoria walking out (blindly)
Peoria--well, okay, Francis--made it as far as Derringer's Bar before turning to deliver one final salvo.
``Fuck you, Mr. Umney!'' he screamed, and ran on.
To be Continued....
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