she recalled the words spoken the morning after the night with the fellow whodrove the dry cleaner’s van, Barry or Benny. You still smell scared, like you don't believe it. It seemed to me that real life is dramatic enough without big windows, and there are no good camera angles, only pain. Try to wriggle and I’llchew on your eyes, so help me God.
That's not necessarily a bad thing. I had a vision of these unfortunate little moppets smiling like that throughall the days of their lives, till they were put in the final box, smile still strictured. In that moment I wondered how long it would be before I started hating Richard. Why does the creation of awork of art impose on the artist the obligation to lead an exemplary life? Why do we demand anunreasonable nobili
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