… even though we ain't got scratch …
To: The Boss
Date: May 11
Everybody’s reading Kierkegaard and getting thoroughly depressed. I can’t get anybody to read Spinoza.
We’ve had some strange visitors, too. Two olive-skinned girls sat on my red sofa, one eyeing the other and touching her leg; the other softly accepting. Both were braless and somewhat flat but strong-nippled. Though they conversed with the group, they really spoke and looked only to each other. I wanted to ball them both. Together.
I didn’t have time to check our policy manual.
“Roger was in my room until five telling me he didn’t want to sleep alone again. Imagine that!” another one said, looking at her lover, who simply smiled, looking away.
As students spoke of friends in their dormitory suite and one, in laughter, threw her arms around the other; one, a raspy voice and sharp eyes. The other, soft voice, had dewy eyes.
I left them behind when I got coffee with Hilda, who wouldn’t hear a word of any of this.
It’s all so mysterious, this matter of attraction and desire – and all the barriers that erupt around it.
For the full story, click here: BIG INCA