Maybe I loved Gabe already. What’s love at first sight but a bucket through over you that smoothers out all of your previous self-loathing, so that you can see yourself slick and matted down and audacious? At least, I believed for the first time I was capable of being loved.
Or maybe I just loved the saw.
Yeah, I keep unleashing McCracken. Can you blame me? She’s my favorite right now. Also this book is due back to the library eventually. “Some Terpsichore” is, perhaps, even more idiosyncratic than anything else I’ve read by this author, with funny little sentences and phrases dropped in that only sort of jibe with the tale being told. Or maybe I’m tired. Judging by “Some Terpsichore,” McCracken knows her music and knows her Philly, by the way. Or fakes it expertly. Damn I want to hear this music. Damn I want to own a mint copy of Miss Porth Sings!
Word This Story Taught Me:
- Terpsichore (n) the Greek Muse of dancing and choral song.