Sunday, January 6, 2019

the last book I ever read (Early Work: A Novel by Andrew Martin, excerpt eleven)

from Early Work: A Novel by Andrew Martin:

“That’s not what that is,” Leslie said. “I’m just selfish.”

The right way to play this felt out of reach. I didn’t think that she was any more selfish than most of the people I knew. But she was somewhat more successful at achieving results. I stole a glance over at her. She was sitting up very straight, with her hands folded in her lap, staring intently out the windshield. The epitome of formal grace, which was not called for in this situation.

“Come on,” I said. “Impulsive cross-country killing spree with me? Badlands-style? With slightly less murder? Kenny won’t let us stay much longer unless we start cutting the grass and shit. He told me I wasn’t appreciating his environment.”

She turned to me, and I could feel her eyes against my skull.

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