North of Boston

THEY aint much happened sence the last riting. Other Saddy night 1 am setting to home in frunt of the fire listening to the cold draw nails in the clapboards when a siren blats in the frunt yard. Trooper sticks his hed out of a cruiser and asts do I want to ride a while. I get into my fur hat, sheepskin and mittens and we take off.

We play the back roads for a spell, sliding along between the high snow banks. They is the little farm houses with the smoke going straight up frum the chimneys, the moonlit fields and the black patches of woods.

Around wun corner we find a snow bunny with his car stuck right to the snout. We yank him out. Cawl at a cupple of Saddy night hog rassles where folks have danced and trod around every Saddy night for the last hundred years. Wun local champion is full of beer and percedes to clean house with a mild character. Trooper he washes the local champion's face in the snow and sends him home. Go up over the cement and see a ski car doing bettern seventy. Driver finds out a Ford cruiser is a lot faster.

Then it is midnight and we pull up at a lunch room where the snow is banked clean to the windows. Cupple more cruisers have already pulled in. We set and warm and have pie and coffee and drag at our cigarettes. The talk goes from deer huntin to restorin old houses to the Battle of the Bulge to trainin bird dogs and back.

It was wun of them evenings that want exciting, didn't cost nothing, but was awful nice to remember. Wisht wun or two uv you might uv ben along. You might uv liked it.