Tuesday, January 20, 2004
Denouement.
In passing, and quite by accident, I recently happened upon the following:
The days of reading the classics in dark corners were over - no more balancing the tattered hardcover on one knee, scratching my chin with deliberate circumspection. Once I realized with disgust that my behavior was that of a mere literary dilettante, I decided right then and there to abandon this life of a cheap tart and move on to something more genuine. I would, I decided, become a writer instead - I would give up my career as a conspicuous reader, and trade in the skin of a tease I had been living in.
I would become a prostitute, and get paid to ingratiate myself.
I would become a prostitute, and get paid to ingratiate myself.
I think that says it all, doesn't it?