Michael Malone - Weebly

was no answer."
"Where in g.d.h. could Beanie be? Pardonne my
French, Arthur dear, but I am so frazzled I feel like
standing out in the middle of the rain, howling like the
call of the wild."
Standing out in the middle of the rain, somewhere in
Birch Forest, Richard Rage and Arthur Abernathy's
mother were making love for the sixth time in half that
many hours.
"We can't go on like this," gasped Beanie, shiny wet
and naked as the day, in 1924, she was born. "It's not
possible."
"I know it's not possible. It's fucking amazing!"
agreed Rage, who had never felt so undeflatable before
in his life, not even with Cerise Washwillow, the
majorette to whom he had given his love and virginity
and with whom he had made love, sobbing, the night
before she married the future pediatrician instead of the
high school's senior poet, class of '55.
Now years were sublunary and time itself had
stopped for Dante and his Beatrice. They swayed, they