I Woke Next to the Corpse by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview

Page 73

small, but quick steps on her high heels, buried a quarter inch in the 18th century hand knotted, rust, red, blue, and ivory Persian Heriz rug which covered 80% of the smoke stained, oak strip, party area flooring.

Her hair was pulled up and off the neck and forehead, coming to rest in a series of serious appearing, piled waves. Her eyes were glazed, and were devoid of communication as they sailed past me.

Once I had shown her the official invitation she had sent Tony (Toro) Calabrese, which he had given to me, she became unable to hide her disappointment, her lips curled into a forced, rigid smile, which I was glad to return. There were only three or four other guests there at this early hour, only one of whom I had vaguely known as an unaffiliated, psychotic bill collector for

I Woke Next to the Corpse