Sometimes I want to shout, "Hey! HEY! Didn't anybody notice the cool section names John put in this book? What is wrong with you people? Look at how perfect they are. THEY ARE PERFECT!!"
(Hey, John? No worries, I am receiving your broadcast. Cherries. Got it. Well done. I mean really well done. Genius, in fact.)
I am preoccupied with the predictable tinsel and colored sugar and shuffling that goes with this time of year. But the biorhythm of activity that follows in the wake of my brother's work is welling up again and so I'll pause for a moment to remember John, done appropriately enough by posting the first two paragraphs of Leaving Las Vegas:
Sucking weak coffee through a hole in the plastic lid of a red and green styrofoam cup, Sera spots a place to sit down. She has been walking around now for at least two hours and wants desperately to rest. Normally she wouldn't dare hang around this long in front of a 7-11, but the curb looks high and, having recently accumulated a fresh coat of red paint, not too dirty. She drops down hard on the cold curb and hugs her knees, bending her head into the privacy of the dark little cave created by her arms. Her eyes follow the stream of light running between her two thighs, down to where it concludes in black lace, aptly exposed by her short leather skirt.
She throws back her head, and her dark brown hair fans around her shoulders, dances in the turbulence created by a passing Sun Bus; a window framed profile begins to turn and vanishes in a cloud of black exhaust. In the red gloss of her recently applied lipstick there is a tiny reflection of the glowing convenience store sign, its cold fluorescent light shining much too white to tan or warm the beautiful face appealing beneath it. She modestly lowers her knees, only to have the black blazer fall open as she leans back on her elbows, revealing her small breasts under a sheer lace camisole. Making no effort to cover herself, she turns her head; her dark green eyes, protected by long mascara-laden lashes, scan up and down Las Vegas Boulevard.
If you haven't read the book, you go on and do that. Go on and do that real soon.
(Bars, lemons, plums. Goddamn. I so love that, Johnny. I so love that.)