July 22nd, 1975

Daytona Beach. Lolling about a motel room on the beach. Directly across the street from the amusement park. Whirring screaming carnival lights flashing through our window at night. Early morning, silent streets. Padding down wet sidewalks to McDonald’s for breakfast coffee. The amusement rides glare in the bright sunshine like some dead creature.

The countdown. A week left. The worries begin. Richard didn’t sleep at all last night. I had weird hallucinatory nightmares of our pets. We’ve run through our money again. Nearly a thousand dollars for a two-week vacation in Florida.

I am totally filled with dread at the return to Washington. That crazy, insane, humiliating job. The bills. Dead run. The lake is exhausted. 

The lake is exhausted.