Chapter 7
Across the counter, John handed me a pile of envelops and fliers. I was glad there wasn’t another postcard from Lewis.
“That’s it for you this morning,” John said, his eyes returning to the leftover cherry cheesecake sitting under the glass bell dome by the cash register.
“You know,” I teased him. “This cake is so good, it opens doors in your mind.”
John, our mailman and town hippie, wore his long black hair in a ponytail, and when not in uniform, was always sporting a new tie dye shirt he made himself. Both his twin daughters were studying at UCLA. He was an iconoclastic, a great mind, and his contribution to the local library had gotten me through the first few months of solitude after my break-up. “I haven’t done LSD since the sixties,” he said with a grin, “but this cake
