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Show 160 expose black irises surrounded by white, the ragged buds of ears pulling outward from the Jaw, straining the sutures of the hairless skull. That the whole composition threatened to lose itself to the brushstrokes confirmed the close relationship between form and content, or suggested Harry didn't know the difference. There was something futile about Harry. You hated to see him work so hard but you knew he would not recognize disappointment when it came to him because he would be too busy, and no one would point it out to him. Late each afternoon he still rushed home to the apartment he shared with Shannon on Landfair where he ate a modest stand-up supper of scrambled eggs mixed with slices of onion and bell pepper, his radio out of his ear but tuned low 1n order not to disturb Shannon and whatever guest he had at his end of the apartment, after which he put on his leather jacket and wool cap and drove to Culver City on his motorcycle to put in three or four hours whirling large elastic disks of dough behind the front window of a pizza parlor while people watched him from the sidewalk. His shift completed, he drove back to the Village, arriving usually by ten o'clock, and either studied (he was barely passing any of his classes) or-if, as tonight, he felt he had earned recreation-joined his roommate and Simon and anyone else who happened to be interested for an hour or so at the Coach and Seven, where he worked very hard to construe insults as banter so his friends would like each other. It was a measure of his innocence that he tolerated Shannon. Noel had once lived in that apartment with them but had since moved to a variety of other apartments, duplexes, basements, and his place there had been filled by a graduate student in art history who went home to Anaheim on weekends. "How is Harry?" Lorin asked, ignoring the girl with the bangs who had not worn Shannon's green pointy. |