Paul Brownfield~hat I look worried here, cJorrier, this would appearyself at eighteen months c~d since I haveo be mefindingd.aduate of the creative-writing program at Emersonhas since moved to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina,or for the daily newspaper and is working on his firstes.FIRST-PLACE WINNER Short-Story Award for New Writersnt Ella was smelling gas again, comingthrough the floor of her apartment. She'd already phoned theSouthern California Gas people, the police and fire departments,the mayor, and so at three in the afternoon Philip found himselfon his hands and knees, his nose pressed to the living-roomcarpet. He was vaguely aware that he should be humiliated,being forced to do this, but he was a TV writer and had the kindof free time that made you available in the afternoon to smell arelative's carpet. Plus, he worried that Ella actually was smellinggas, coming from the stove, the floor, or wherever, and that hewould show up to take her to breakfast Saturday morning andfind her facedown, a note by her forehead saying, "You didn'tbelieve me."
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