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J, . It

The young man with the flashy eyes and the quivering female In

black had reached the end of the street. A dingy apartment building

sat under the shaded street glare with only stone rubble in the adja-

cent lot providing any companionship. Across the macadam street a

brown shingle house suffered the freezing weather. The street was

silent except for the dark female's scraping heels and the giggles and
voices of the approaching couple.

Scampering l!P the dirty marble steps, they pushed their way

through the heavy door and c,up the cracking steps. The poet whis-

pered to the dark outline at his side, and she giggled and laughed.

Yellow paint was peeling from the walls and flaking down upon tht!

staircase. In the corner on the first landing a cobweb crowded the
ceiling.

The knob on the door turned, and the interior of the lady-in-
black's room jumped to life as streaks of light darted in upon its

drowsiness. On an instant the room was incased in a soft brilliance;

it was now the dark night which clawed the pane to enter and share
the warmth.

The walls of the room had been painted an almost-immaculate
ivory; it looked so childlike-pure and sinless. Two small yellow

wooden chairs sat in the corner-chairs that appeared to have disap-

peared from a kindergarten. These tiny chairs were the only chairs
in the room.

A child's bureau lined the wall; it too had a mellow-blond sur-
face. On its top, cutely parading in front of a mirror, were three toy
dolls, each about six inches high. They were clothed in white and
had tiny black shoes. Their figures, balanced against the mirror's
image, made the entire picture weirdly surrealistic.

Propped in the corner was a black-and-white panda bear which
stared fishily at the poet. A set of scarred children's wooden blocks
were scattered at his side.

The poet stared at his surroundings and twisted his face into
frowns. The entire room sent a sleepy twitch up his spine. He felt
warm and strangely secure.

The night had been cold, and there was a fascinating somnia to
the room-a weird warm urgency to forget. His life was the night-a
cold bitter salt to grit the edges of life to sharp points and stick them
into someone's bowels.

But this haunting woman; he had called her his Madonna and
his own lie was tricking him. The woman had a soft radiance about
her and she was kind. He could almost hate her for it. His wife had.

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