That you are not productive and cannot provide, but that this is not your fault? You know better than that.
Who do you think you are, some kind of medieval knight slaying an imaginative dragon? Do you really believe you can change the course of history?"
Eugene Quindlen staggered down the street devoid of rational thought, in a vacuum, destitute of feeling anything but the constant, incessant stabbing of the demonic knife that struck repeatedly, deeply, into his soul.
Part Three: The Tree
A bell rang and the trolley car stopped. Honest John cranked down his window and yelled across the street. “Are you all right, man!”
Eugene was passed out on the stoop of a brownstone. He was dreaming that he was a knight in shining armor atop a great white steed. He wore Kitty’s colors on top of his lance - yellow and blue. She always liked yellow and blue.
“If ever we buy a home of our own,” she said, “it would be painted yellow and blue.
REGINA | 96