“It’s very hard to live in a studio apartment in San Jose with a man who’s learning to play the violin.” That’s what she told the police when she handed them the empty revolver.
(from Revenge of the Lawn: Stories 1962-1970)
Usually that top line is where I put a (vague) description of the plot of the story, but here I’ve placed the entire story because it’s just that short. (It’s so short, in fact, that my pal Brian pasted it into IM to send it to me.) I like the story. It’s sort of like a dark little joke. Succinct, with each word building up to the punchline.
Dedicated to Aunt Lee.