“My good girl,” he says, “my creeper, my softy hooved…”
“Lord,” I think, “he’s James Joyce.”
He says: “Girlie it’s a pinkpink morning.”
Says: “Experience, experience, it’s all in us.”
I’m walking home after a night of carousing. I’m 25, heartily youthful, so in love with the world my lips twitch, and in the coming years I’ll often talk to myself.
“You’re horse is beautiful,” I say, peering upward in rosy air. The horse is very tall and the man is tall and they are far above in emerging light.