Gemma~was He Really Looking At Me That

You Can’t Blame A Fella For Kissing The Prettiest Girl In New York, Can You, Sister?” Sam’s Grin Was Anything But Apologetic. Evie Brought Up Her Knee Quickly And Decisively, And He Dropped To The Floor Like A Grain Sack. “you Can’t Blame A Girl For Her Quick Reflexes Now, Can You, Pal?

He Wanted To Hit Something Or Someone. He Wanted To Burn Up The Whole World, Heal It, And Burn It Down Again.

On The Bowery, In The Ornate Carcass Of A Formerly Grand Vaudeville Theater, A Dance Marathon Limps Along. The Contestants, Young Girls And Their Fellas, Hold One Another Up, Determined To Make Their Mark, To Bite Back At The Dreams Sold To Them In Newspaper Advertisements And On The Radio. They Have Sores On Their Feet But Stars In Their Eyes.

When You Peeled Back The Skin, You Were Dealing With Bone And Muscle, Blood And Nerve Endings. It Was All The Same. She Liked The Beautiful Logic Of The Circulatory System, The Elegance Of The Neurological, And The Fierce Warrior Spirit Of The Heart. The Body Had Rules And It Had Quirks.

A Pair Of Blue Noses On The Next Bench Glared Their Disapproval At Evie’s Knee-length Dress. Evie Decided To Give Them A Real Show. She Hiked Her Skirt And, Humming Jauntily, Rolled Down Her Stockings, Exposing Her Legs. It Had The Desired Effect On The Blue Noses, Who Moved Down The Platform, Clucking About The “disgrace Of The Young.” She Would Not Miss This Place.