by Daniel Arkin
A skinny young man in a grey V-neck t-shirt runs a forefinger along the spines of R. Crumb anthologies. He takes Crumb´s “The Book of Genesis” off the shelf and leafs through the introduction. He turns to his companion as she fidgets with her floppy knit cap.
“Y´know the girl I dated for, like, five minutes? The one right before us?”
The girl in the cap nods.
He goes on: “She was the one who kind of, uh, turned me on to the group thing.”
“Isn´t that, like, the Eyes Wide Shut thing? Masks and passwords?”
“No. No, no. I mean, it´s intense and stuff, but it´s not, like, theatrical.”
The skinny man puts the Crumb book back on the shelf and tilts at a forty-five degree angle to read other spines´ titles.
“I wonder if they have any Harvey Pekar,” he says.
“So, is this, like, something you´re thinking about for us?”
“No, I mean … no. But if you´re down, you can talk to these people I know.”
The girl in the cap nods and wanders to Literary Criticism. She quickly returns to her companion with narrowed eyes.
“I am not totally sure, but it seems, like, a way to end intimacy. Like the guy in Shame? We rented that.”
The skinny man nods. He gently puts his arm around the girl´s waist and leads her to the children´s section to continue their discussion in private.