Sublime

in my apartment? “Hi,” he said in his soft, effeminate voice. He was wearing a tweed sportcoat with large brown buttons, straight-legged polyester black slacks, and a black skullcap. I hadn’t talked to Dustin in more than a year, since before I had joined the community. Last I’d heard, he was managing a nightclub in Russia. He had sent me photos of

only vestiges left in Mr L. Prosser of his mighty ancestry were a pronounced stoutness about the tum and a predilection for little fur hats.

The desk clerk, whose name-plate identified him as G. O. Horner, was a thin, elderly man with protuberant eyes that gave him an expression of intense interest and curiosity. The expression was false. After thirty years in the business, people meant no more to him than individual bees do to a beekeeper. Their differences were lost in a welter of sta

Jenny always leaves for foreign parts in the winter, for she is single and brilliant and passionate about God’s creatures. She hugs me goodbye. Keep the faith! she says. And drink gin. Life around Alex will never be dull!