Levinson's Journey to Maine

The heat had exhausted Levinson. His temples throbbed, his forearms glisten,. under familiar branches, unknown house fronts shimmered in the sun. It was already 7.25. He wouldn't have time for a shower, just enough time to tell himself down, changes close. Ten minutes later, when Levinson stepped out his front door, the rain had stopped. A crack of pale sky showed through the somber clouds. The street lights had come on. On his front lawn, he saw a length of gleaming steel pipe. Across the street, a wire fence ran along the curb, enclosing the front yard in the backhoe. Three men, dark against