The streets were full of Millers fans on their way to the homecoming festivities at Springfield High, so we slipped down the alleys that run secretly parallel to the alphabetical streets. These unpaved byways are a reminder that it wasn’t all that long ago that Springfield was a town of wagons and stables, but they still have an air of the untamed West with a clutter of abandoned lumber, drifts of yard waste, and pools of cat litter. The b-sides of all these familiar houses confirm their public faces: charming backyard fountains, uniform raised beds full of fall brassicas, patchy dirt squares speckled with plastic toys, frustrated dogs lunging against haphazard fences. It’s hard to really respect a big dog that can’t get over a three-foot fence, but Jones and I hustled past them anyway, just in case. My paranoia about the house burning down was confirmed as we emerged onto the Parkway, but it was just smoke from Ed & Betty’s woodstove.
Cat poop consumed: definitely
