Mary: No I.D.

I went from Todd's smokey, dingy, empty pizza-box-strewn 1970's-style living room to Mrs. Walentowicz's smokey, dingy, BINGO paraphernalia-ridden 1970's-style kitchen, and I don't think my lungs can take much more.

Nevertheless, I sat with Mrs. Walentowicz for a full hour and a half looking at pictures of trucks, and while it was at times agonizing for both of us, there does seem to be one she's leaning towards. I think it might be best if she sleeps on it tonight and I come back in the morning.

I again asked her more than once if she was feeling all right, and she again insisted that she was, but after meeting with her a second time I am more convinced than ever that she is virtually petrified with an unnameable fear. If anything, I believe she has gotten worse since the last time I saw her. She shambled around the kitchen like a caged animal while smoking one cigarette after another, once even mistakenly lighting one even as another wasn't half-gone in the ashtray. Despite all my prying-some subtle, some not so much-I still have no idea where this anxiety is coming from with her, and I'm not sure she does either.

I'll return tomorrow and hopefully get a positive I.D. on the truck.

When I do come back, I'd like to have the name of a good psychologist that I can pass along to her, but I don't know anyone here in Milwaukee. Would either of you have a recommendation?