Sep 25, 2015
Share:
I thought you’d called me here to solve a murder, he said over tea. Or commit one. Sip. He
took a three-mississippi sip.
took a three-mississippi sip.
True, we’d used Union Square as our office. We’d meet every day at the same café. He was
my Mr. Jones when I’d get my Jones Jones.
my Mr. Jones when I’d get my Jones Jones.
Now he’s just bones, if that. But I called him back to the scene of past crimes. Look at our
language, he says, it’s gotten so stark.
language, he says, it’s gotten so stark.
Who you telling, I says. There’s nobody here. Queer. He called me queer then spanked me
into a cab to his pad where we got down
into a cab to his pad where we got down
to aperitifs. Wait, is this the past? No, I says, it’s your present. One more for bold time’s
sake. Me and Stewie, we’d rendezvous, we
sake. Me and Stewie, we’d rendezvous, we
would screw over drinks on the brink of disaster. We’d get plastered. What became of that
bastard? Much & too much & too soon.
bastard? Much & too much & too soon.
While we have you...
...we need your help. You might have noticed the absence of paywalls at Boston Review. We are committed to staying free for all our readers. Now we are going one step further to become completely ad-free. This means you will always be able to read us without roadblocks or barriers to entry. It also means that we count on you, our readers, for support. If you like what you read here, help us keep it free for everyone by making a donation. No amount is too small. You will be helping us cultivate a public sphere that honors pluralism of thought for a diverse and discerning public.
September 25, 2015