Jutting from the edge of the tub, also overgrown with fungus, was a boot-clad foot. The shape of his head was still in the middle of the pillow and the shape of his body still lay printed on the sheet. ront of your face, yelling Ah, Jesus, who cut the cheese? Nor one of those methane swamp-gas farts, either. the lyrics of John Lennon, and Henry uttered two loud laugh-syllables — Ha! Ha! I'm going insane, he thought .
' He paused, then lowered his voice. Nevertheless, a phone rang loudly, shattering the vivid memory Henry had spun between them and scaring the hell out of both of them. Whenthe sound dies away, he feels the good exhaustion that comes from total submission to the art. 'Jesus-Christ-bananas! Fuck me Freddy!' He felt behind him for his pursuers and got nothing clear, only a sense of approach.
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