‘minhas meninas estão limpas’ dijo al chulo, ‘Eu não troco na carne podre’. Derrubada em seu chapéu, disse ‘el niño abandonado es muy limpio Juro en mi mães sepulcro!’ Grabbing Lil by the arm, his brow fishy with sweat, in a hatful voice he says ‘ahora, váyase a la mierda!’ Written in the blackest squid-ink, in flowery overflowing scribbles, darting in and out of the shadows like a playful child, hidden in the sorrows of a deflated saddened heart, was the following; a sort of epitaph for lovers and the bedraggled,
"I can't resign myself to the fact that I live in order to die some day. I'd love to step off this well-trodden straight and boring path. To somehow live differently, think different thoughts, feel different feelings than others. It wouldn't bother me to be as alone as a tree on the plains. My leaves would be like no other tree's. [...] (p 88)" Gyula Krúdy, Sunflower.
Lindsay Gresham William fell down a well, cracked open his skull and died from exsanguinations. He was discovered by a milliner the next day, the milliner stumbling across him in a drunken stupor, and carted off to Carlisle’s funeral home outside the five-mile fence. ‘that’s him, the one’s got the boils on his neck’ said a boy with spindly legs, ‘he grabbed me and wouldn’t let me go… I had to chop him in the neck before he’d say uncle’. ‘I don’t trade in rotting flesh’ said the pimp, his eyes two festering holes. ‘my girls’ are clean’. In the alley behind the Waymart a man with an oily neck accosts a woman with mascara-blackened eyes, the oil from the oily man’s neck allowing the woman to escape, wriggling free like a greased piglet. The woman, who had studied Portuguese at night school the year her husband left her for a meretriz da diva with melharucos enormes, screamed at the top of her voice ‘ahora, váyase a la mierda!’
"I can't resign myself to the fact that I live in order to die some day. I'd love to step off this well-trodden straight and boring path. To somehow live differently, think different thoughts, feel different feelings than others. It wouldn't bother me to be as alone as a tree on the plains. My leaves would be like no other tree's. [...] (p 88)" Gyula Krúdy, Sunflower.
Lindsay Gresham William fell down a well, cracked open his skull and died from exsanguinations. He was discovered by a milliner the next day, the milliner stumbling across him in a drunken stupor, and carted off to Carlisle’s funeral home outside the five-mile fence. ‘that’s him, the one’s got the boils on his neck’ said a boy with spindly legs, ‘he grabbed me and wouldn’t let me go… I had to chop him in the neck before he’d say uncle’. ‘I don’t trade in rotting flesh’ said the pimp, his eyes two festering holes. ‘my girls’ are clean’. In the alley behind the Waymart a man with an oily neck accosts a woman with mascara-blackened eyes, the oil from the oily man’s neck allowing the woman to escape, wriggling free like a greased piglet. The woman, who had studied Portuguese at night school the year her husband left her for a meretriz da diva with melharucos enormes, screamed at the top of her voice ‘ahora, váyase a la mierda!’
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