When he finally resurfaced, he looked like a tom cat who had been on a round of the neighborhood. Still, this time he only had a black eye; the rest of the effect came mostly from the dirt and the torn cuff that dangled down from the sleeve of his leather pea coat. On a tip from a source at the Mitte Bar, his friend had found him near Tacheles and, relieved and irritated, had brought him straightaway to their apartment.
Now it was phone calls to cover his shift at the bar, to reassure their other friends that he had, as usual, turned up, and he was, as usual, okay, or would be after a good sleep. Meanwhile, unwilling or unable to answer any questions about the gaping hole in time since they last saw him whole and unblemished, he sat dreamily in the corner of the living room, on a plush, ancient wood-framed chair, mumbling incoherently about the origin of the term "beyond the pale".
No comments:
Post a Comment