Bagmen (A Victor Carl Novel)
“My hate, for instance, was no longer diffuse and general, but hard and glowing, sharp as a scythe. And my purpose was now as directed as a missile; suddenly I had answers to Timothy’s three questions, answers as cold and hard as my hate. And my profile, too, was cleaner, for I no longer wore the hat, that ludicrous gray trilby that made me look like a lothario pol from the fifties. I had tossed it into a garbage can outside the rock club, letting it nestle amidst the empty bottles, half-chewed sandwiches, and vomit, where it belonged.
Well, not everything was cleaner. My apartment itself was utterly trashed. I had straightened it from its earlier ransacking, put the crap back in the proper crap drawers, stitched up what daggered couch cushions could be saved, turning bad side down so that the scars were hidden, and replaced those that couldn’t be sewed. It had almost seemed good as new, but not anymore. All the drawers again were pulled open and emptied, all the cushions again wer...e slashed, the floor again was strewn with my crap.MoreLess
Well, not everything was cleaner. My apartment itself was utterly trashed. I had straightened it from its earlier ransacking, put the crap back in the proper crap drawers, stitched up what daggered couch cushions could be saved, turning bad side down so that the scars were hidden, and replaced those that couldn’t be sewed. It had almost seemed good as new, but not anymore. All the drawers again were pulled open and emptied, all the cushions again wer...e slashed, the floor again was strewn with my crap.MoreLess
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