“I told him. “One can sense within one’s soul its agedness. Why, even the hoary darkness seems more venerable than ordinary shade.”Stanley groaned wearily. “Please, Willy, don’t wax poetic. It gives me gas when you talk like an Oscar Wilde fairy tale.”Leaning next to him, pressing my back to the cool brick, I gazed toward heaven. “Ah, dear boy, that is not a fairy tale moon. It is the rapacious moon of Salome, casting its edacious light upon the doomed, the dead.”“And the dizzy,” he rudely... answered; but I shrugged off the implied put-down and took from my pocket a gold compact and tube of lip gloss. Stanley pushed away and began looking into the windows of the buildings that lined the street. “Here,” he suddenly shouted, a noise that echoed in the vacant street. I went to him and looked at the small sign above a door. I could hardly make out the dark letters.“You’re certain this is the place?” I asked hesitantly.“Of course it is. There’s Eve’s sculpture.” I joined him and squinted through the murky glass of the display window. The work in question stood one foot in height. Composed of smooth gray clay, it depicted two nude and hairless creatures standing near an outré skeletal tree. The human figures were squat, their bald heads oddly formed. Their facial features were amorphous and amphibian. Each of the tree’s sinister branches ended in a serpent’s head.“In the image of Frog created He them,”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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