J R (American Literature (Dalkey Archive)) by Rick Moody William Gaddis

Author:Rick Moody William Gaddis [Gaddis, Rick Moody William]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Dalkey Archive Press
Published: 2012-02-19T16:00:00+00:00

—Look Jack just, wait give me that pile and watch your . . .

—God damned stairs can’t see a God damned, listen. Listen hear that? God damned telephone ringing someplace can’t see a . . .

—Hello Mister?

—Tom somebody on the stairs here don’t step on him . . .

—Mister you came in the apartment by the end of the hall? Is empty now he went away in the bag Mister?

—What, what the hell do you . . .

—Mister my vife, five flights her legs she couldn’t go up and down anymore Mister . . .

—Went away in a bag God damn it I’ll put you in a . . .

—Jack shut up leave him alone, just get the door . . .

—Put him in a God damned bag . . .

—Hurry up there’s a cab . . .

—Come the five Jones boys pushing their God damned clubhouse across the . . .

—Look just wait here at the curb, if he sees you with those bundles of paper he won’t stop, just wait here . . .

—Watch out Tom, cinco Jones run over you with their God damned club . . .

—Que dice?

—Dice sin cojones, coño . . .

—Madre, coño . . .

—Look out you crazy God damned bunch of . . .

Lights veered, drew up.—Jack! here . . .!

—Not taking him anyplace buddy.

—You’re God damn well taking both of us right where I told you to, get those in here Jack . . .

—Hijo de . . .

—Crazy God damned . . .

—Coño mira el coche coño . . .!

—Get in here get the door, what the hell’s going . . . what was that!

—God damned clubhouse, cinco Jones boys let go of it smashed right into a lamp post, jumped me for no God damned . . .

—Lock your door, driver if you’re not out of here God damn fast you’re going to have five crazy Puerto Ricans ripping your . . . he was flung back against the seat as they swerved in a wide arc, slammed to a halt at a light.

—Crazy God damned, put them in a bag too how’s that. Cinco Jones put them in a bag how’s that.

—Look can you just be quiet till we get there?

—Forgot Old Struggler, Tom.

—I’ve got something down there.

—Forgot the God damned shirts . . . and they slumped staring out opposite windows through jarring halts, abrupt snatches at velocity.

—This side driver last on the right, Jack? Get out, I’ll push these out to you . . .

—Second want to look in there for a shoe, might be Hardy . . .

—Damn it just get this bundle will you . . .? The door slammed, he handed bills in the window.—Get up Jack, what did you drop.

—Schramm.

—God damn it get up off the sidewalk and, look these papers are just going to stay right here if you can’t . . .

—No no no got things in the saddle . . .

—All right get them in here then . . .

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