'I THINK WE'LL
HAVE TO TALK ABOUT
THIS HOUSE'
'Crinoline curtains and organdy mire, all those telltale
traces of fine desire : a corduroy bedsheet and an
old, velvet throw. I really think we'll have to talk.
Outside of this cherished room, the soft wind is
pushing the evergreen fronds, the needled bonds.
-
I've turned this three-speed light down to low. The
yellow it throws has a heavenly glow - we've got to
talk about this house. There are so many wild things -
like steeds and stallions running - outside the window
where I sit. May I have another one of Father's cigarettes?
-
How long has it been? Three years at least, since I was
here; and he's been dead twice that time. This old tobacco
box stinks, and this fag is hard as a nail. Too old to smoke,
for sure. No one's ever thrown these out? Has Aunt Jesta
ever been here since? That portrait on the wall is scary.
-
I bet that piano hasn't played a note in ten years, and couldn't
hold a tune now if it tried. I remember when we brought it in.
I was twenty-five, and we got it from Arnie's Tavern -
'a fifty-dollar bar-room upright', he called it. Oh,
time sure was sweet back then. We've got to
talk about this house.'
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