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SAMPLES Some
Brief Excerpts from The 351 Books of Irma Arcuri
Welcome to my world.
He placed the Borges on the tin stand by the naugahyde recliner, fetched a bourbon and ice in his recently acquired whiskey glass, adjusted the lampshade and then sat down. He raised the glass of bourbon to Irma and her collection.
She freed her fingers from the woven tube. “So my number is on this,” she said, handing him the toy.
She waved her bone folder above a hapless looking volume, one that stood crippled and skewed. Everything happens inside, she explained.
In Seville, he ran almost every morning with Irma, unless she was off exploring the rest of Spain. He would leave Beatrice in her deep morning sleep and try to beat the Andalusia sun. He and Irma usually ran along the wide walkway overlooking The Guadalquivir, passing the Moorish lookout, the three bridges, the bull ring, the Plaza de Armas.
They are the only ones reading your precious books, he would tell her. They are the ones who care most. They are the descendants of those who feasted on the great collections in Alexandria.
©2008 David Bajo. All rights reserved. Sketches by Yvette Dede. Website design by Chris Costello.
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