Play With Fire
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About once a month I get a letter from, say, North Carolina taking me to task for slandering the god-fearing in print. Most of them add that I’m going straight to hell for my sins. My mother could have told them that when I was fourteen.
Of course, about once a month I also get a letter from, say, Seattle telling me all about some relative who was sucked in by a fanatical sect whose parents had to have him deprogrammed.
I don’t know which I find more depressing. Almost as depressing as the fact that the plot is based on three separate true incidents from the last twenty years of Alaskan history.
About the Dedication
for Dixie and Brian and Sandy and Gary
and especially for Rhonda Lynn
here’s to the Taylor Express
and the Malemute Saloon
and the motormouth in bunny boots
and the days we thought would never end
Dixie and Brian and Sandy and Gary and Rhonda and I all went to school together at the University of Alaska, Fairbanks. We lived in Lathrop Dorm, which housed the basketball team in the basement, the hockey team on the first floor, the swim team on the second floor, the engineers on the third floor and women on the fourth floor. Yeah, it was coed, all right. Just barely.