-- Sitting on the floor by the window with only part of my fa the window. Hell never e back.
-- Of course he will. Hell return, opee with one hand, look up and see your fa the window.
-- Hell never e baot now.
-- Hell e baew lines on his meager face. Yet with head held high.
-- I was unfivable.
-- I would nue otherwise.
-- The black iron gate, difficult to open. Takes two hands. I see it. Its closed.
-- Ive had hell with that gate. In winter, without gloves, yanking, late at night, turning my head to see who might be behind me --
-- That time that guy was after you --
-- The creep --
-- With the --
-- Naw he wasnt the oh the he was the other one. With the cudgel.
-- Yes they do seem to be carrying cudgels now, Ive noticed that. Big knobby cudgels.
-- Its a style, makes a statement, something to do with their pricks I imagine.
-- Sitting on the floor by the window with only part of my fa the window, the upper part, face truncated uhe eyes by the what do you call it, sill.
-- But bathed heless by the heat of the fire, which spreads a pleasing warming tickle across your bare back --
-- I was unfivable.
-- I dont disagree.
-- Hell never e back.
-- Say youre sorry.
-- Im not sorry.
-- Genuine sorrow is gold. If you t do it, fake it.
-- Im not sorry.
-- Well screw it. Its six of one and half dozen of the other to me. I dont care.
-- What?
-- Five me I didhat.
-- What?
-- I just meant you could throw him a bone is all I meant. A note written on pale-blue notepaper, in an unsteady hand. "Dear William, it is one of the greatest regrets of my poor life that --"
-- Never.
-- He may. He might. Its possible. Your position, there in the window, strongly suggests that the affair has yet some energy unexpehat the magiorth of your brain may attract his wavering needle still.
-- Thats kind of you. Kind.
-- Your wan, white back. Yreen, bifurcated French jeans. Red lines on your back. Cat hair on your jeans.
-- Wait. What is it that makes you spring up so, my heart?
-- The gate.
-- The sound of the gate. The gate opening.
-- Is it he?
-- It is not. It is someone.
-- Let me look.
-- Hes standing there.
-- I know him. Andy deGroot. Looking up at our windows.
-- Whos Andy deGroot?
-- Guy I know. Melville Fisher Kirkland Leland & deGroot.
-- Whats he want?
-- My devotion. Ive disabused him a huimes, to little avail. If he rings, dont answer. Of course hes more into standing outside and gazing up.
-- He looks all right.
-- Yes he is all right. Thats Andy.
-- Powerful forehead on him.
-- Yes it is impressive. Stuffed with banana paste.
-- Good arms.
-- Yes, quite good.
-- Looks like he might fly inte if crossed.
-- He rages stantly.
-- We could go out ireet and hit on him, drive him away with blows and imprecations.
-- Probably have little or no effect.
-- Stick him with the spines of sea urs.
-- Doubt you could pee.
-- But hes a friend of yours so you say.
-- I got no friends babe, no friends, no friends. When you get down to the nut-cutting.
-- Go take a poke.
-- I dont want to be the first you do it.
-- Ah the hell with it. Sitting here with my head hanging in the window, what a way frown woman to s