« １９７３年のピンボール | Main | Page 13 »
January 06, 2007
Page 12
She would always be sitting at the same place, absorbed in a book with her elbows on the table. She wore glasses that looked like orthodontia and had bony grasshopper hands, and for whatever reason had shut out her parents. Her coffee was always cold and her ashtray was always overflowing with cigarette butts; only the title of the book changed. Once it was Mickey Spillane, once it was Kenzaburo Oe, once it was a Ginsberg anthology. In short, she'd read pretty much anything. Students coming in and out of the shop would lend her books she'd plow through like eating corn on the cob. In those days, the world was full of people who wanted to lend books, and I don't think she even once wanted for something to read.
Those were also the days of The Doors, The Stones, The Byrds, Deep Purple, and Moody Blues. The air somehow seemed to shimmer with power and giving the world a kick could make it all come tumbling down.
We spent our days drinking cheap whiskey, having so-so sex, telling stories without conclusions, and lending and borrowing books. As the curtain creaked down on the clumsy 1960's, it all came to an end.
I've forgotten her name.
Posted by tim at January 6, 2007 11:59 PM
Comments
Post a comment
Thanks for signing in, . Now you can comment. (sign out)
(If you haven't left a comment here before, you may need to be approved by the site owner before your comment will appear. Until then, it won't appear on the entry. Thanks for waiting.)