curtis invited dana up to his room and she accepted his invitation.
the fitst thing dana saw when she entered curtis’s room was a poster on the wall, a black and white photographic poster of a man dressed in the style of the early twentieth century. dana didn’t like his looks.
“who is that?” she asked curtis. “he looks like a serial killer.”
“oh no,” curtis replied. “that is rainer maria rilke, one of the greatest poets of the twentieth century.”
“bullshit. he’s a serial killer. i don’t associate with guys who put up posters of serial killers. see ya.”
dana left. curtis was left alone to fill up his evening.
he made himself a peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich, the kind his nanny had made him and that he had been eating all his life.
then he made himself a mango smoothie in his new blender.
he watched an old rock hudson and doris day movie and a documentary about the first gulf war and a documentary about nine inch nails.
he enjoyed the rock hudson and doris day movie and thought it might have been even better if it had been a musical. he wondered if rock hudson and doris day had ever made any musicals together.
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