The temptation is to shut one’s eyes and throw a cloak over Noah’s nakedness,” the reviewer said. “Play the dutiful son to one of America’s greatest novelists.”
They sat in the diner’s only corner booth. The reviewer was drinking black coffee. The Thalidomide Kid hadn’t touched his fish-and-chips, claiming it smelled of mercury.
“Jesus,” spat the Kid. “Don’t get biblical this early in the morning.”
“You mean late afternoon.”
“It could be three seconds till midnight on the Doomsday Clock and I’d still say kick the false gravitas. Anyway, didn’t Ham bugger his dad? Isn’t that how the story goes once you scrape off the euphemisms?”
Read Full Article »
