Dream Town
The woman in the doorway looked so harmless. Who was to tell she had some rather startling interests?
angling the little bells and hooting to each other. A woman, hanging wash in the back yard, called out to him, thinking he was somebody else.
He found a little park, no more than twenty yards in circumference, centered around a weatherbeaten monument of some unrecognizable military figure. Three old men took their places on the bench that circled the General, and leaned on their canes.
Sol was a civil engineer. But he made like a reporter.
"Pardon me, sir." The old man, leathery-faced, with a fine yellow moustache, looked at him dumbly. "Have you ever heard of Armagon?"
"You a stranger?"
"Yes."
"Thought so."
Sol repeated the question.
"Course I did. Been goin' there ever since I was a kid. Night-times, that is."
"How--I mean, what kind of place is it?"
"Said you're a stranger?"
"Yes."
"Then 'tain't your business."
That was that.
He left the park, and wandered into a thriving luncheonette. He tried questioning the
