Lakeside

Those people across the lake in the little square summer cottages I could only see wavering around like puppets through binoculars in the lake's peculiar haze--who were they? What were their passions and problems? That businessman, for instance--he must have been a businessman, with his pale fat body, cigar never out of his mouth, always reading The Wall Street Journal on the sloping lawn every morning and never going near the water--who was he? He nearly fell from his chair a couple of times. Apparently there were no level flat areas that could hold his flimsy lawn folding chair stably on the property.

Were those people in that cottage--it must have been a summer rental--city types? They must have been. They didn't seem to be regulars. A summer on Lake George for a group like that must have been a riot. Yeah, I think I could write about them. They were clearly out of their element. Mountain lakes can be deep. What's that going on over there now? Well well well! She's not bad, eh? What? about seventeen? Jailbait for sure. But why's she staying with those jerks in the little brown cottage? They look like oysters.

It's Uncle Rick. Uncle Rick, I'll call him. Probably some capitalist from New Jersey who manufactures curtain rings.