Poor, sad Z.
Some women had so little. So little, did Z's of this world have.
Lived endlessly complicated lives, of course.
The style of a little girl's shoes meant the world, how a dress fit over a navel too. How a dress hung over a navel, the way a curtain dropped, was everything. Meant the world. So very little, they had.
The shape of a shadow cast by a table leg on a carpet at twilight was important for the Z's of the world. If it wasn't right for a Z, the table went into the attic. The shape of a shadow by twilight was that important.
He recalled his own Z... Recalled her on the carpet on her elbows and knees, looking at the shadow, deciding the fate of an antique table. And how he'd had the urge to jump her right then, that time long ago, drop her panties in one, smooth flash and grab.
But he hadn't. No, he had not. Would it all have been different, say he had?
Ins and Outs on the Ups and Downs that include some Notes on the Cut, Thrust and Parry that is part of the Great Game--Sexual Politics. And encompassing too Single Men and Women and the Pleasures of Youth.
