It was the usual sort of evening in Washington Square when I
suggested to Eric that I kill his wife.
Taxis blew their horns on Fifth Avenue. Two Russians near
our bench engaged in a loud chess match. Some old men played a card game in
another language. Humming loudly, a woman sat on the ground, picking at her
bare feet. A couple of aging hippies sat in silence, moving small stones around
a board. A skinny guy strummed and sang on the grass, and another guitar could
be heard not far away. The effect was a little discordant, but you wouldn’t
think so if you understood Washington Square and New York City.
I understood both very well. The Square was everything I
loved about New York, and New York was everything I’d wanted it to be back when
I was wasting my talents on a dirt road in Wisconsin.
I love this description of Washington Square. I am fascinated at the rest and where it might go.
ReplyDeleteOh, a fabulous first line.
ReplyDeleteI love everything about this except maybe Wisconsin being a place the narrator feels is a wasteful place to be.
ReplyDeleteYeah - there's a certain charm to the idea of a dirt road in Wisconsin.
ReplyDelete