This is Mr. Bartlett Finchley, age forty-eight, a practicing sophisticate who writes very special and very precious things for gourmet magazines and the like. He's a bachelor and a recluse with few friends, only devotees and adherents to the cause of tart sophistry. He has no interests save whatever current annoyances he can put his mind to. In short, Mr. Bartlett Finchley is a malcontent, born either too late or too early in the century.
5.01.2007
Festival
I'm put together beautifully.
Big, wet bottle in my fist. Big, wet rose in my teeth. I'm a birthday candle in a circle of black girls. I'm a parade. God is on my side, the motorcade will have to go around. Ash trays and coffee cups are reversible!
