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Show Acting Alone Page 263 maybe. He hasn't been around in a while. Try his house." "I'll do that," said Sam, subtly placing one of his copies of the Kansas Review of the Collective Humanities within the addict's blurry line of vision and waiting for the inevitable utterance from the prematurely toothless mouth. Universally acknowledged failures always speak dismissively of the successes of others. "Say, I hear you got something of yours in Dr. Abraham's KRotCH." Sam left. So much for the English department. Sam was feeling so rough-and-tumble joyous and fond and healthy and so downright published that he said "What the fuck, hey?" and eschewed the services of the Emergi-Cab that had been waiting for him all this time in the Humanities Building parking lot (as opposed to the Cow Research Facility's multi-level parking terrace) - In a courtesy station back at the fort he had phone-called that cab away from its rounds of saving old people from cardiovascular death - his privilege as a registered guy without a spleen; but now that he was sure he'd located his Elijah he felt so good that he simply waved the enraged paramedic driver on with a broad, gentle gesture of the arm and walked the three blocks uphill to Dr. Abraham's house. Out of nowhere Sam suddenly was visited by a vision of himself as the big red-bearded commissar, swaggering up through the shtetl, following a most benignant whim, putting off, or even canceling altogether the Cossacks' next pogrom - |