(Zapopan and Jalisco thread rosaries in a shop behind the Greek Deli. Akin to the abacus’ craftsman they thread holy beads onto foot-long pieces of starched string, sealing the ends with hot wax. György and Białystok cut string into 12 inch lengths, Eliezer and Semenov arrange the beads, Zapopan and Jalisco string the beads and Lazarus Zamenhof dips the completed rosaries into a vat of boiling wax. Sarick and Kamifukuoka deliver the rosaries: Sarick driving Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays and Sunday, Kamifukuoka Mondays, Fridays and Saturday. Rijn and Saitama, cousins of Zapopan, play jack the ball behind the rosary shop, Saitama winning 27½ times out of a hundred0.
‘where are my beads you cur?’ screeched Lela. ‘I have no idea’ said her mother, ‘and even if I did I wouldn’t tell you’. Pointing at the picture of Dante hanging over the door Lela leaves, her mother’s fishy smell ruing the air. On Mondays she goes to the market where she haggles with the Greek Deli, now owned by the dogmen, for old bread and pigs’ stomach. Tuesdays she fishes for castoffs and things people no longer want or care for behind the Seder Grocer, her long auburn hair tied back in a braid. Wednesdays she plays pinochle with the alms man in the park behind the aqueduct, the alms man winning 7 times out of eleven. Thursdays she eats nothing, having eaten everything she’d haggled or fished. Fridays she sleeps all day, her legs curled up beneath the half moons of her buttocks. Saturdays she makes the beast with two backs with the legless man, her eyes smarting from the stench rising off his befleaed body. On Sundays she sticks plums in her cunt, listening to the juice trickling down the insides of her thighs.
‘where are my beads you cur?’ screeched Lela. ‘I have no idea’ said her mother, ‘and even if I did I wouldn’t tell you’. Pointing at the picture of Dante hanging over the door Lela leaves, her mother’s fishy smell ruing the air. On Mondays she goes to the market where she haggles with the Greek Deli, now owned by the dogmen, for old bread and pigs’ stomach. Tuesdays she fishes for castoffs and things people no longer want or care for behind the Seder Grocer, her long auburn hair tied back in a braid. Wednesdays she plays pinochle with the alms man in the park behind the aqueduct, the alms man winning 7 times out of eleven. Thursdays she eats nothing, having eaten everything she’d haggled or fished. Fridays she sleeps all day, her legs curled up beneath the half moons of her buttocks. Saturdays she makes the beast with two backs with the legless man, her eyes smarting from the stench rising off his befleaed body. On Sundays she sticks plums in her cunt, listening to the juice trickling down the insides of her thighs.
No comments:
Post a Comment