The print., May 30, 1979, Page 19, Image 19

John Carpenter wearily
lulled a blanket oyer his
lead for an extra five
at least twenty hours df
overtime -etaich month.
The only ¡thing that kept
him at it was money. He
simply couldn’t survive on
anything less. The alarm
was buzzing again/ and
this time he had to get up.
mutes of sleep. He was
(ad that itawas Sunday,
|d that he wouldn’t have
e work overtime. The
wk schedule of his new
| was putting a lot of
After calling in fpr the
gain on him', , both day’s assignments, he
[ysically
and locked up his apartment
¡notionally, and he won- and walked three blocks
led how much longer down the street to meet
Icould take lit. Besides his partner, Dale, and hop
king sixteen hours a the subway. Although
| seven days a week, he’d been working for the
»as expected to put in «extermination center for
less than two months, he
had already dearned thé
importance of working
and traveling in pairs. Nd
one was hated more than
an exterminator. If he.was
Seen alone on the streets,
particularly at night, he
stood a good chance of
being beaten or even
killed because df his oc­
cupation. The two young
men rode silently all thé
way to the truck station,
and neither spoke as they
checked out a truck. The
the ordinary. Dale was a
man of few words and
never spoke unless he
really had something to
say. This sometimes
bothered John, but he
never complained—there
were too many other
things he really admired
about Dale. Like the fact
that Dale had a wife and
two kids, and managed to
feed them on the same in­
come that John himself
barely survived on. Like
the fact that Dale never
silence was nothing out of complained, even when
everything seemed to be
going wrong. Dale White
was a tough, self-made
man who was determined
to get something out of
life. John wished that
someday he could say the
same for himself.
Dale was at the wheel,
and' the
electrically
powered truck ’ moved
towards its first destination
with a steady hum.
“Did you watch that
news report last night, the
one from the world '
capital?” John finally
asked.
Haven’t You Heard?
by Don Ives
S-summer 1979
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page 13