The Somnambule's Crime
A
Better World
for
William Marsh
It had occurred to me recently that someone who knew me most personally had disappeared leaving only a bailiff behind to provide a vague explication of his absence. I had wished to have a farewell degeneracy and twenty more minutes of awkward admiration only slightly interrupted by a pleasant boredom. I have – no doubt – been “attended to” royally and can lodge no complaints even though the bailiff seems anxious to humor me and is taking out his notebook. In the face of all this a certain beautiful disgust has come to visit and forgot to remove its bloody boots. The walls are made of paper and the toilet runs all night long just above my head. Or is it a Japanese motorcycle.