jayne

While we ate, a beatiful, heavy reain fell l ike a string of pearls from the heavens. Afterward we walked all the way back home down Fifth Avenue along those dark, washed, and empty streets and we only saw about two people. It was as if everyone had left the city; we were virtually alone in New York that night.
When we finally got to the front door of my apartment, he handed me a small velvet-lined box.
"What the hell is this?" I said. What I really meant to say was, Who are you? Where is Primo?
"It's a wedding ring," he said, beaming. "An expensive one, too." I later had it appraised at six hundred dollars, which for him was a moderate fortune.
"So when are we getting married?" I kidded, knowing there must be a catch.
"We just did," he explained, as we headed through the grimy hallway to the apartment door.
"Just did what?"
"No one stays married nowadays."
"So what are you saying?"
"I'm celebrating our time together. We are whatever we are. That ring commemorates these last few months together. If we last another fifty years, or break up in the next ten minutes, that ring celebrates it."
When we got inside, scented candles, expensive wine, exotic incense, intense kissing, and better-than-average lovemaking followed. The ensuing sleep was like falling backward down a clean and bottomless elevator shaft.
-arthur nersesian, dogrun

a passage from the book i'm reading right now, the author i have become obsessed with in the last two months. he is a beautiful and gritty writer. writing largely about life on the lower east side of nyc. lives of people who are down and out, and the occasional gems and flickers of love or romance or sex in their lives. he's beautiful.
the only problem is it's extremely difficult to find a bookstore that carries any of his books in london.

sorry, i dont have much else to say right now.