Sport 11: Spring 1993
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‘Tumberling tumberling tumberling tumberling tumbleweed,’ sings Maria.
‘What are you thinking about?’ he says. ‘Colin?’
‘About about about,’ says Maria. ‘Yes, what about?’
I try to think of something to be thinking. Maria pours another Pimm’s No. 1 Cup. They say they exist, but no one I ever met has seen a Pimm’s No. 2 Cup.
‘Sing something,’ she says.
‘Me?’ I said.
‘You,’ she said.
I looked around. No sign of Pingao. Just the dog howling in the distance—car coming fast along a gravel road.
Scandal in the elbow,
Trouble in the knee . . .
‘I will cut out your tongue,’ she says, ‘and keep it in my shoe.’
I placed my hands upon her body in a sexual manner. Gospel Song settled himself behind the sofa. Rattling in his throat.
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