“I will never work with that jerk again!” Nietzsche threw his editor’s proofs down onto the glass table, the sheaves of foolscap spilling onto the rug. “Shit!” He stomped to the mantle and back.
“So it says Ovenman, big deal it’s just a typo.” For a nihilist she could be a real bitch. “Besides,” she added, to get his goat, “the perfect man should cook, anyways."
“Oh very frickin’ funny, Anna.” He picked at the pile on the rug, tentatively, as if it were poised to bite him. “And read this one!”
“Dog is Dead? Oh now, that is funny, Fred.”
No comments:
Post a Comment