December 31, 1998
Paris
Last night, shortly after dinner, my father's head caught on fire. He was leaning toward a candle, examining a scratch on the table, and seconds later I noticed the flames, which encircled his scalp like a brilliant crown. He looked like a happy king, content that all was well throughout the land. Just as he realized what was happening, Gretchen bounded over with a cloth napkin. Dad retreated into the bathroom and spent ten minutes examining the damage with a hand mirror. This morning we went to buy him a hat.
Geen opmerkingen:
Een reactie posten