By Iris Owens
Harriet is leaving her boyfriend Claude, “the French rat.” That not less than is how Harriet sees issues, no matter if it’s Claude who has simply requested Harriet to go away his Greenwich Village house. good, a technique or one other she has no purpose of leaving. on the contrary, she is going to remain and detailed revenge—or may have if Claude had now not had her unceremoniously evicted. nonetheless, although moved out, Harriet isn't really approximately to maneuver on. no longer whatsoever. Girlfriends circle round to patronize and recommend, yet Harriet basically takes offense, and it’s effortless to appreciate why. simply because mad and maddening as she will be, Harriet sees earlier the well mannered platitudes that everybody else is content material to spout and reside by means of. She is an unblinkered, unbuttoned, unrelenting, and in particular bitingly humorous prophetess of all that's fallacious with women’s lives and hearts—until, in a shock twist, she unearths a savior in a gloomy room on the Chelsea resort.
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Extra info for After Claude
Why bother? ” “ It’s no joke. This is my precious food supply. ” Compactly tucked away in Damselfly’s large bag was a complete emergency kit, as befitted a member of her profes sion. She grasped my penis between her experienced fingers, wrapped it in sterile cotton, quickly pulled out the tube, and dropped the end of it into the toilet. Urine spurted noisily out of the bag, swollen to the bursting point. ” A drop of blood oozed from my penis. The nurse pressed the glans with sterile cotton, and though I didn’t intend to, I quickly began having an erection.
The terrycloth blanket that had flipped up in the wind had at some point resumed its proper position. “You’re seriously ill, aren’t you? ” “That’s out of the question. ” “There are some pretty heartless people out there. I sup pose it was the hospital staff or your family. . ” “Cut that out. Who should I contact? For illegal parking, it’s the police. For oversized garbage, it’s the district office. For lost invalids, it’s the fire department. . ” To tell the truth, I want to go back to the dermatology clinic behind the district office building.
I was resigned to crashing, but we just managed to avoid it. Fortunately, there must be further instruc tions on the chart. We switched from one track to another and were shunted into a side track. I’m drenched in sweat. Fine, this sweat will come in handy later as “ radish-sprout” seasoning. A small, five-car vehicle whizzed past within a hairsbreadth of the bed. Because of the dust cloud raised by air turbulence, I sneezed several times in a row. Something’s really odd. What went past wasn’t the handcars, as I expected, but a brightly decorated miniature train, the kind you see in amuse ment parks.
After Claude by Iris Owens