Tag Archives: Denis Johnson

…..He recognized her now. The Iron Curtain chick–immigrant from the tortured lands. Skinny, devoutly New Tribe–ethereal, yes. She had a beautiful face. She wore a white turban on her head.
…..Once or twice, but not lately, he’d dealt with her. The van she’d driven up in would be the Sheep Queen’s.
…..She looked a little wrecked, her mascara descending in streaks. Maybe she’d come from a party, left suddenly after a disastrous scene. Mussed and tearful. She was appealing like that. He wanted to participate in her fugitive chemistry.

–From Already Dead
by Denis Johnson