She set the beers on the hardwood floor, curled up beside them in front of the sofa, and motioned for me to do the same.
"I find the floor more comfortable than chairs," she said, sipping the beer from the can. "Don't you?"
I told her I hadn't thought about it, and she laughed and said I had an honest face. She was in the mood to talk about herself.
She avoided Greenwich Village, she said, because there, instead of painting, she would be spending all her time in bars and coffee shops.
"It's better up here away from the phonies and the dilettantes.
Here I can do what I want and no one comes to sneer. You're not a sneerer, are you?"
I shrugged, trying not to notice the gritty dust all over my trousers and my hands.
"I guess we all sneer at something. You're sneering at the phonies and dilettantes, aren't you?"
After a while, I said I'd better be getting over to my own apartment.
She pushed a pile of books away from the window—and I climbed over newspapers and paper bags filled with empty quart beer bottles.
"One of these days," she sighed, "I've got to cash them in."
I climbed onto the window sill and out to the fire escape. When I got my window open, I came back for my groceries,
전체재생
다음페이지
문장검색