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Show Anting Alone Page 271 Bleeding and crying in the sunshine at what appeared to be a bus depot, Sam stared down at his publication in the Kansas Review of the Collective Humanities. Perfect vacuum. Sam noticed for the first time a P.S. appended to Dr. A.'s editorial letter. He didn't read as much as osmose the words: Oh, yes, Mr. Edwine. I don't know that with your uncompromisingly literary style you'd be interested, but there's a "literary" agent looking for you; and, in the hope of locating you for all our sakes, he has given me permission to print his name and address on these pages. Sam was unable even to decipher the numbers and words on the front of the bus he was boarding now. But he knew that he'd already somehow read and memorized this agent's name and address with complete accuracy, and with deep appetite, even as he watched the Kansas Review of the Collective Humanities float away down the gutter like a ghost boat. |