a la mode
but I am here I cannot leave if it were 1871 I would drink my wine glass to the floor I would light a cigarette extinguish it on the door I cannot leave this place that serves mediocre wine that trashes good bread from a table there is not a beautiful girl in sight relegated to a table once serene and solitary I am besieged by old women who smell of camphor and men who compare reading glass prescription order the cheapest wine and steak for two! the heavy man says two! when when they are four who chews the bone? they ask one will surely have to fight for it I am besieged by laughter laughter from underground the laughter of that french girl on the underground after work after life after death she laughed cynically partially at me partially at herself like a man she realizes she has become she un dressed me right there I hid one eye and watched sculpting her features she was Beatrice I was Rodin her lips pale and cool she dreams to conquer to possess that way by which all young handsome women strive to possess by that way which so perplexes men in English I am afraid there is no word for it not in French either perhaps in Latin and if not Latin then I am certain some pre historic tongue still we want we always want to know more how do we go from one picture to the next? where can we find a good bottle of wine? when do we make love? the funeral's in Jersey? they don't have sidewalks there? are we going to Paris? why haven't you asked me to your parents? how is your back? have you tried the steak?