“What a fucking nightmare…” Jenn, not looking away from the computer screen, continued clicking the mouse, rendering new images flashing before her of the guys in ripped T-shirts and colored hair.
Here are the three of them, in the bar playing pool. And here they are in a gazebo on a beach with beer bottles. All three are totally nude on an empty beach.
Here they were in some poorly furnished room (it was probably in the shelter where Francis lived) playing cards on the floor. Freya is in ripped hose and has a ring in her nose. Both guys are undressed to the waist.
And here is another scene—Francis is lying on his back on the floor, while Michael is on top choking him. It seems they were fighting about the girl.
“He is asking me for a thousand dollars to record their first concert. You can’t imagine, Adam, the amount of money their music already cost me. I don’t even mention that if someone in the clinic finds out I may have a problem.”
She clicked the mouse and the office became quiet. As if only here on the table the volcano is erupting and this eruption was accompanied by an earthquake to someone’s wails. And suddenly it’s quiet…quiet…
“I once dreamed that my son would become a lawyer or a doctor,” she sighed. “But who knows, maybe something will come out of this thing.”
There was a yearly tradition in the clinic at the end of May, when the all staff gathered for a picnic. This year the place selected for this occasion was a park in the Park Slope area. Tables were reserved at the restaurant.
It turned out to be a quiet, almost windless day. We drove out at noon. I offered a place in my car to Jenn. To my surprise, she agreed right away. I have to say that lately it’s as if Jenn forgot the past offenses and threats for my “stupid jaunts and freaking frivolity”; she only praised me without measure and even promised to arrange for me the hospital to hire me.