Back behind huge garbage cans spilling refuse, in the sick-sweet rotting odor of the alley, VictorRohrer s His coat and my skirt swirled out and settled in a cloth whisper around us. He was staring down at the pictures, as if he couldn't look away. In another few minutes he had placed the longdistance call—collect—to Mrs.
It wasn’t bad, this waiting. There was something in his eyes, something older than he was, something that made me want to squirm and look away, but I was already running from Richard, I couldn't run away from anything else. My ardeur drank Asher down, absorbed him where he lay on my skin, sucked him in as he pulled at me. Archy the cockroach avers he is the reincarnation of a vers libre poet.
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