The neighbors who’d once welcomed the Joneses with home-baked cookies are milling restively outside. The sheriff’s car stops briefly, then slowly pulls away, and the rampage begins.
Finally the mob disperses, leaving an uprooted sapling at the curb. Again the Joneses’ house looks like all the others on Pleasant Lane.
Alex has the only red car on his street.
I read your vignette about Nedicks today; then I did a search on you and read your other Metropolitan Diary essay; finally, I discovered your fifty-word stories and read them all.
Sorry I’m not in the business of offering you a book contract, but thank you for your writing.
I’m sorry I caught up with your comment so late, Steven. Many belated thanks for your kind words. And it’s nice to hear from another NY Times reader.