Neponset Park terminals
Note: This desk terminal is located on the desk inside the northern cabin.
My argument with Carol delayed my arrival, but I got a pretty good view of the sunset from the road. Getting the generator and lamps going in the dark was a real pain. I guess city life has made me soft, ha! Don't remember my old man ever having to set up in pitch black, but then again I can't recall mom ever delaying the trip ever. But, what are you gonna do, huh?
First year in the old cabin alone. The silence is just what I need. This kind of solitary should leave me free to work on the novel that's been kicking around my head all these years. Going to grab some shut eye then I'll get started in the morning!
Oct. 20, 2077
Rose earlier than expected to the sounds of construction work. It seems they've begun work on a rock quarry up the road since coming here last year. No matter, just a bump in the road. I can work through it. I'm sure Steinbeck and Hemingway didn't work in total silence. Surely I can work this into the narrative somehow, give the main character an edge. Yeah, that's the ticket.
Oct. 21, 2077
God DAMN it! What kind of sweatshop are they running over there? They work into the late hours of the night, I can't escape their constant hammering and digging. When I get back to the city, I'm going to lodge a formal complaint. There's no way those are union hours.
I can hear it now. "Maybe if you were a better writer, you could work through it." Well, Carol, this is nothing compared to your banshee wails. If I can ignore your constant nagging, I can work through this. Back to the book, I'll deal with the quarry morons later.
Oct. 22, 2077
Ralph Something-ski, that was the foreman's name. I'm writing it here for my formal complaint. Something Polish. Idiot yelled right in my face and told me to get out of his! I hope the asshole falls into the quarry. I hope all of them do! Then maybe I could get some peace and quiet around here. Can't get it at home, that's for sure.
Spent some time shooting cans off the picnic tables. Then started taking out some of the crabs scurrying around river. If I'd had a son, I could teach him how to shoot just like Dad taught me. Instead, I got only two daughters. Not good for anything, are you, Carol?
Dear God, they're at it AGAIN! JESUS, I can't stand this racket!
To my wife, Carol, and my darling daughters. You are the source of my inspiration.
Dead of Night
As the Captain steered the ship, he