[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.She has only half a mouth left and I fuck it once, then twice, three times in all.Not caring whether she's still breathing or not I gouge her eyes out, finally using my fingers.The rat emerges headfirst – somehow it turned itself around inside the cavity – and it's stained with purple blood (I also notice where the chain saw took off about half of its tail) and I feed it extra Brie until I feel I have to stomp it to death, which I do.Later the girl's femur and left jawbone lie in the oven, baking, and tufts of pubic hair fill a Steuben crystal ashtray, and when I light them they burn very quickly.At Another New RestaurantFor a limited period of time I'm capable of being halfway cheerful and outgoing, so I accept Evelyn's invitation to dinner during the first week of November at Luke, a new superchic nouvelle Chinese restaurant that also serves, oddly enough, Creole cuisine.We have a good table (I reserved under Wintergreen's name – the simplest of triumphs) and I feel anchored, calm, even with Evelyn sitting across from me prattling on about a very large Fabergé egg she thought she saw at the Pierre, rolling around the lobby of its own accord or something like that.The office Halloween party was at the Royalton last week and I went as a mass murderer, complete with a sign painted on my back that read MASS MURDERER (which was decidedly lighter than the sandwich board I had constructed earlier that day that read DRILLER KILLER), and beneath those two words I had written in blood Yep, that's me and the suit was also covered with blood, some of it fake, most of it real.In one fist I clenched a hank of Victoria Bell's hair, and pinned next to my boutonniere (a small white rose) was a finger bone I'd boiled the flesh off of.As elaborate as my costume was, Craig McDermott still managed to win first place in the competition.He came as Ivan Boesky, which I thought was unfair since a lot of people thought I'd gone as Michael Milken last year.The Patty Winters Show this morning was about Home Abortion Kits.The first five minutes after being seated are fine, then the drink I ordered touches the table and I instinctively reach for it, but I find myself cringing every time Evelyn opens her mouth.I notice that Saul Steinberg is eating here tonight, but refuse to mention this to Evelyn."A toast?" I suggest."Oh? To what?" she murmurs uninterestedly, craning her neck, looking around the stark, dimly lit, very white room."Freedom?" I ask tiredly.But she's not listening, because some English guy wearing a three-button wool houndstooth suit, a tattersall wool vest, a spread-collar cotton oxford shirt, suede shoes and a silk tie, all by Carrick Anderson, whom Evelyn pointed out once after we'd had a fight at Au Bar and called "gorgeous," and whom I had called "a dwarf," walks over to our table, openly flirting with her, and it pisses me off to think that she feels I'm jealous about this guy but I eventually get the last laugh when he asks if she still has the job at "that art gallery on First Avenue" and Evelyn, clearly stressed, her face falling, answers no, corrects him, and after a few awkward words he moves on.She sniffs, opens her menu, immediately starts on about something else without looking at me."What are all these T-shirts I've been seeing?" she asks."All over the city? Have you seen them? Silkience Equals Death? Are people having problems with their conditioners or something? Am I missing something? What were we talking about?""No, that's absolutely wrong.It's Science Equals Death." I sigh, close my eyes."Jesus, Evelyn, only you could confuse that and a hair product." I have no idea what the hell I'm saying but I nod, waving to someone at the bar, an older man, his face covered in shadow, someone I only half know, actually, but he manages to raise his champagne glass my way and smile back, which is a relief."Who's that?" I hear Evelyn asking."He's a friend of mine," I say."I don't recognize him," she says."P & P?""Forget it," I sigh."Who is it, Patrick?" she asks, more interested in my reluctance than in an actual name."Why?" I ask back."Who is it?" she asks."Tell me.""A friend of mine," I say, teeth gritted."Who, Patrick?" she asks, then, squinting, "Wasn't he at my Christmas party?"."No, he was not," I say, my hands drumming the tabletop."Isn't it… Michael J.Fox?" she asks, still squinting."The actor?""Hardly," I say, then, fed up, "Oh for Christ sakes, his name is George Levanter and no, he didn't star in The Secret of My Success [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

zanotowane.pl

doc.pisz.pl

pdf.pisz.pl

listy-do-eda.opx.pl