hole, the way he said, Is that better? was priceless and ridiculous at the same time. She fell in love with him. For a minute. He changed in her eyes in the dark, ugly vestibule.
She could fall in love with anyone.
He was still holding the front door open so she could get a better shot of the hole. She knew the picture wouldn’t come out. It was close to hopeless, futile. The City might still be impressed by the documentation. They also had to get photographs of loose tiles and grease in the corners. There was a stair that slid out by itself, and anyone could slip off and kill themselves, it just came out, but it was hard to take a picture of that. They moved the stair to show that it was loose, to show it in its improper, dangerous position. Photographing dust on the walls was implausible. She did it anyway and looked at Ernest. He was smiling, reassuringly. He knew it was absurd. He wasn’t deluded, he was optimistic. Ernest was a mystery.
She looked at his mouth. She had never noticed the thin scar on his chin. Maybe he’d been in a duel. He was a swashbuckler for tenants’ rights. She could fall in love with anyone if the timing was right and the place was right, or wrong. If she was in a room long enough with someone, with no other people around, or if she was trapped in a place, she could fall in love with anyone. Like an animal. She liked animals. They were adaptable.
Anyone could fall in love with anyone, under the right circumstances. Maybe it was the survival instinct. Elizabeth wasn’t sure she had one. People wanted to continue themselves, protect themselves, get pleasure. People wanted pleasure all the time, anytime, anyplace, they’d do anything to get it. Everyone was capable of the most hideous behavior and crimes to get it. The pursuit of pleasure wasn’t pretty. It made people cruel during tender moments. If they weren’t really getting what they wanted, they could kill as easily as kiss.
Ernest was driven. Driven was sex to her, sexy. Someone active and alive with desire for anything was sexy. Maybe not driven for a car, or ice cream, or heroin, because it excluded you, the possibility of you. She could kind of tell what somebody was like sexually, what their body might act like if stimulated, from the way they wanted supposedly nonsexual things. Nothing wasn’t sexual.
Ernest and Elizabeth finished for the night. They had done the job. The Polaroids were flat and weird, but they were evidence. They showed something. Maybe the City would appreciate that.
Hillary and Bill Clinton are driving around. They stop at a gas station. Hillary gets out and talks a long time to the gas station attendant. Finally she gets back into the car. Bill says, Who was that? Hillary says, He’s an old boyfriend of mine. Bill says, A gas station attendant? Hillary says, If I’d married him, he would’ve been president.
Now Elizabeth wasn’t exactly seeing as she stared out the window. Things were moving, even imperceptibly. She couldn’t live without windows. She got bored easily. She needed outside stimulation. She even wanted the outside inside her.
The street looked like desolation alley.
A man walks into a bar. He sits down and places a gunnysack on the barstool next to him. It starts to move. The bartender says, What’s that? What’s in there? I don’t want any animals in here. Get it out of here. The guy says, It’s not an animal. Listen, I’ll show it to you if you give me a drink. It’s really amazing. OK, says the bartender, but it better not be an animal. The guy opens the gunnysack and a little man about twelve inches high jumps out. He looks around and sees the piano. He runs to it and begins to play. He plays beautifully. The bartender is astounded. He’s great, says the bartender, I’ve never seen anything like that. The guy says, Well, one day I met a gypsy woman, and she gave me a ring. She said, Rub the ring and make a wish, and I’ll give you whatever you ask for. But you
She could fall in love with anyone.
He was still holding the front door open so she could get a better shot of the hole. She knew the picture wouldn’t come out. It was close to hopeless, futile. The City might still be impressed by the documentation. They also had to get photographs of loose tiles and grease in the corners. There was a stair that slid out by itself, and anyone could slip off and kill themselves, it just came out, but it was hard to take a picture of that. They moved the stair to show that it was loose, to show it in its improper, dangerous position. Photographing dust on the walls was implausible. She did it anyway and looked at Ernest. He was smiling, reassuringly. He knew it was absurd. He wasn’t deluded, he was optimistic. Ernest was a mystery.
She looked at his mouth. She had never noticed the thin scar on his chin. Maybe he’d been in a duel. He was a swashbuckler for tenants’ rights. She could fall in love with anyone if the timing was right and the place was right, or wrong. If she was in a room long enough with someone, with no other people around, or if she was trapped in a place, she could fall in love with anyone. Like an animal. She liked animals. They were adaptable.
Anyone could fall in love with anyone, under the right circumstances. Maybe it was the survival instinct. Elizabeth wasn’t sure she had one. People wanted to continue themselves, protect themselves, get pleasure. People wanted pleasure all the time, anytime, anyplace, they’d do anything to get it. Everyone was capable of the most hideous behavior and crimes to get it. The pursuit of pleasure wasn’t pretty. It made people cruel during tender moments. If they weren’t really getting what they wanted, they could kill as easily as kiss.
Ernest was driven. Driven was sex to her, sexy. Someone active and alive with desire for anything was sexy. Maybe not driven for a car, or ice cream, or heroin, because it excluded you, the possibility of you. She could kind of tell what somebody was like sexually, what their body might act like if stimulated, from the way they wanted supposedly nonsexual things. Nothing wasn’t sexual.
Ernest and Elizabeth finished for the night. They had done the job. The Polaroids were flat and weird, but they were evidence. They showed something. Maybe the City would appreciate that.
Hillary and Bill Clinton are driving around. They stop at a gas station. Hillary gets out and talks a long time to the gas station attendant. Finally she gets back into the car. Bill says, Who was that? Hillary says, He’s an old boyfriend of mine. Bill says, A gas station attendant? Hillary says, If I’d married him, he would’ve been president.
Now Elizabeth wasn’t exactly seeing as she stared out the window. Things were moving, even imperceptibly. She couldn’t live without windows. She got bored easily. She needed outside stimulation. She even wanted the outside inside her.
The street looked like desolation alley.
A man walks into a bar. He sits down and places a gunnysack on the barstool next to him. It starts to move. The bartender says, What’s that? What’s in there? I don’t want any animals in here. Get it out of here. The guy says, It’s not an animal. Listen, I’ll show it to you if you give me a drink. It’s really amazing. OK, says the bartender, but it better not be an animal. The guy opens the gunnysack and a little man about twelve inches high jumps out. He looks around and sees the piano. He runs to it and begins to play. He plays beautifully. The bartender is astounded. He’s great, says the bartender, I’ve never seen anything like that. The guy says, Well, one day I met a gypsy woman, and she gave me a ring. She said, Rub the ring and make a wish, and I’ll give you whatever you ask for. But you
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