The Grass HotelCarry me, son. Do not leave me behind. Are you listening to me? Of course youre listening, you say, and add the F word. Off you go to cope with a storm. Lucerne armfuls for horses. For cows, rye spindly hay. Alone in the paddocks of his grass hotel, a man tends to his beloved horses, Sock and Boy. The voice of his motheraccusatory, fragmenting from dementiahaunts his every move, an excoriating reminder of his failures in the world of people. The Grass