Friday, September 18, 2015

the last book I ever read (Welcome to Braggsville by T. Geronimo Johnson, excerpt seven)

from Welcome to Braggsville by T. Geronimo Johnson:

He was also angry about Candice. Just that morning he found a black footie with orange piping and an orange toe box, and imagined sorting it into her pile while she hummed along elsewhere in the house, tickled to have a boyfriend who embraced housework in that clumsy puppy way, but that was not to be.

For reasons inarticulate he knew it could not happen, not with Candice’s professor parents, originally from New York, oh the mysteries of that city—Woody Allen; Mafiosi; bearded Jewish diamond dealers; Warriors, come out to play—could not happen any more than a copy could say, Sorry, could not happen any more than D’aron could wing a Gull. In fact, back in high school, when Jean, a Gull, asked D’aron to prom with his sister, D’aron said he’d be out of town, or rather, he agreed as such when Jean suggested it. He wasn’t lying. Jean said it first. No. Nothing was as it seemed.

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