I had moved into the Gay Street House; I was in the upstairs back bedroom, thinking about what I was going to be doing since I was going to be living in Portsmouth. I finally had enough money so I had no worries about having a job. Now I would be able to do what I really wanted: devote my time to writing my dreams. I was studying exactly how I would accomplish that.

***

My father and I were in the downstairs kitchen of the Gay Street House. I thought he might ask me to do some work for him because he had a business which involved some outside mechanical work. He didn't pay much, but I told him I wasn't going to work for less than $7.50 an hour, because that was what I had paid my employees when I had worked in Dallas.

I noticed a white phone in the room. I thought my father had been doing some advertising of his business, and I realized if the phone rang, I wouldn't know what to say to anyone who might be calling about the business. I thought my father probably needed an answering machine. If he had one, I could probably devise a message to put on it, a message which would tell people to leave their phone number, or their address if they wanted some information sent to them. I would also tell them they could also leave any other message which they wanted.

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