First Bit of a Story I Began Writing And Then Stopped

Ruskin had taken up a position as a discreditor for Lloyd’s West. Naturally, Lloyd’s West wasn’t Lloyd’s East, and St. Louis wasn’t Carthage, but final notices were now arriving in neatly twined bundles and Ruskin’s cornershop sinecure as a “deporter of poets” had lately brought volumes of sweat and panic.

Rapidly the St. Louis life grew stale and cumbersome; daytime fancies of downriver New Orleans rafts began to gestate. Ruskin knew that city was impossible, full of violent men to whom he owed money and favour. But he had often thought of having a small courtyard.

Ruskin enlivened himself through the small available means. He took a flat above the City Museum, a weekday valet and a subscription to the Business Press. He didn’t get a dog this time, as they barked when he masturbated.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s