Long walk to a shallow pond.

Of all things, Linda forgot to check Lois's safe deposit box while she was in S.F., so we decided to make a trip of it. We drove down on Sunday, stopping Vallejo. As is our custom, we checked for used bookstores, but there weren't any -- in a town one third bigger than Bend.

Next morning, we drove into the financial district. Parked just inside the borders and started walking and walking, got as far as the pyramid building and realized there was no way we'd finish up in time for the parking meter. Went back, found a parking garage, and -- and as it happened, found the Bank of America across the street.

The safe deposit boxes are downstairs, and after filling 15 forms in triplicate, they let us into the inner sanctum. I mean, that's what it felt like -- huge broad doors and paneled wood walls and echoes.

We open the safe deposit box and discover:

Lois was an international jewel thief and it was overflowing with diamonds and rubies.

Lois was a international money launderer and the there were stacks of one hundred dollar bills.

Lois was a master blackmailer and there were pictures of McCain and Palin you wouldn't believe.


It was empty.

The guy just laughed, and wrote across the closing form, "NIL".

Talk about anti-climatic.

A thousand miles in Linda's new car, and the both boring and terrifying freeways, and a memory of traffic and homeless people and traffic and more traffic. It was warm, though.