I was six feet five, blue eyes, brown hair, weight one-ninety. I had been born on April 22, 1923, and lived at 19 Bluebird Lane in Sabattus, which happenedАхаха, Кинг тоже любит высоченных чуваков))
to be my 2011 address.
“Six-five about right?” Al asked. “I had to guess.”
“Close enough.”
It also occurred to me that
living in the past was a little like living underwater and
breathing through a tube.
How should I tell you, then?
In my life as a teacher, I used to hammer away at the idea
of simplicity. In both fiction and nonfiction, there’s only one
question and one answer. What happened? the reader asks.
This is what happened, the writer responds. This... and this... and this, too. Keep it simple. It’s the only sure way home.
So I’ll try, although you must always keep in mind that in
Derry, reality is a thin skim of ice over a deep lake of dark
water. But still:
What happened?
This happened. And this. And this, too.
I’m one of those people who doesn’t really know what he
thinks until he writes it down
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