“He smoked a cigarette, standing in the dark and listening to her undress. She made sea sounds; something flapped like a sail; there was the creak of ropes; then he heard the wave-against-a-wharf smack of rubber on flesh. Her call for him to hurry was a sea-moan, and when he lay beside her, she heaved, tidal, moon-driven.”
― Nathanael West, Miss Lonelyhearts/The Day of the Locust
Agradeço à Luciana de Camargo, pela publicação.
Fotografia © Leonora Fink
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