32 Eden Day Spa

John Guss bob-bob-bobbed around the living room like a bobblehead snoop, peeking under tables long covered by dirty clothes and unfinished meals. Where was everyone? Granny Guss and his psychotic wife and sleeping JoJo didn’t count. They were ever-present in the middle of the morning, like the shoes scattered around the floor.
John had half a mil, and a Saab convertible he parked by the curb because he was afraid to open the garage door. It might be worse than the house. He’d noticed that Guss family life was deplorable ever since he came into the little nest egg which had allowed him to get out and about otherly. And on one of his little jaunts to the Eden Day Spa, he had the revelation that everywhere he’d been before – his home, the Crazy Lady’s, and a few west Marin bars – smelled bad. Musty was the kindest interpretation. Vile was apt oftener.
Where was everyone? It was his son’s christening day. No baptism boy, no monsignor, no caring aunt, nor any of the inveterate Sunday lie-abouts hung over until Tuesday. There was no one to be found except the nut jobs inside, and his brother Joe close at hand on the front lawn, inside the old Olds puffing away on a cigarette and daydreams.


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