OCR Text |
Show Motherlunge a novel 55 We rounded the comer near Pavia's house. As the pale sun sank away, the street unspooled before us like archival film footage-brick sidewalks, hardwoods, lines of row houses all PBS'ed in blacks and whites-the scene's surface scratched and pocked by fast-falling snow. "You know what's weird?" I said to Pavia. "Think about it: you have a penis inside you all the time now." Pavia stopped walking. I followed her gaze. A Jeep Eagle hatchback, grimy, double-parked, was idling at the curb near the front steps to the house. As we came closer, the bashed-in driver's side door swung open with a wrenching creak. "Jesus Christ," I said, grabbing Pavia's wrist. "It's mom." |