The corner. Walking home from the station in the dusk, chilled in the rain no hood for my head and never an umbrella:
The door to Angel's brothel is open; the windows, dark. Now comes the grandmotherly mama-san into the entranceway, lugging two green bulging garbage bags out the street; she dumps them. I wave. She waves. I cross the street
"Say Hi to Angel for me."
"Honey, we have new place. You have a pen?"
She writes. "You call me, I arrange Angel."
She has been in this country a long time. No Viagra, no budget for Angel or anyone this week, a touch of the flu, and
Die Zeit, die ist ein sonderbar Ding still running through my head.
Walk between the raindrops!
{NA}
The Corner[1],
[2],
[3],
[4],
[5],
[6], and
[7].
>> posted by John Psmyth
• 11/14/2004 06:20:00 PM
•
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