is preoccupied with the condition of the Oakland Coliseum grass. But after the World Series, we go to New Orleans to visit Memere. My Grandmother. She knows the stories of how -- after the expulsion from Acadia -- our family came to Louisiana."
It was warm enough to sit on Sido's deck, but in the air there was a sultry energy. Earthquake weather, many thought; few said aloud. On Monday, Sido and Caydance were in a Rockridge cafe, drinking Cappuccino, eating flaky croissants with French butter and apricot jam. "A few days ago, a self-identified manuscript dealer showed up on my doorstep," Sido said. "Long greasy red hair. About him, there was an air of malevolent hostility. Before I could shut the door, he told me that my Book of Hours was not worth much. It was won in a card game, and very little other provenance was known. He offered me $20,000. I said no; he said he would be back. I slammed the door shut and bolted it.
"That sounds like Mackie Alarie. I'll let Jack know. Don't open the door to anyone you are not expecting."