And this nameless skujge who’d invaded my privacy had gone out there, somehow chonked loosethe beamer—and its powe There was blood on his hands and hair under hisfingernails. But the stretch of his back and angle of his head told me he wasn’ t going to let this pass. It is a story with a peculiarhistory, which r m inclined to take time to recount here.
ble I may have met one or more of them, perhapseven been intimate with one of them, though I cringe at CAMERA IN CLOSE on Flint’s eyes as he blinks twice, dropping filters over his eyeballs. They were movie-oriented kids, and they’ d taken over the turfwhere the Metropole Theater was located. Helooked around carefully.
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