My book of Bukowski rants was reduced to being a simple prop, behind which I hid as I observed this slice of marital life unfold before me. She started talking before she was even seated, with a theatrical boom and swell to her voice that seemed To echo off the trees and sidewalks of Central Park. She had a truly thick New Yorker accent, her lineage was possibly middle European, I guessed, but there was no doubt English was her second language. He took her hand and assisted her in sitting next to him, while she intoned uninterrupted on the dirtiness of the subway, the perverts who inhabited their neighborhood, the gossiping neighbors, the gossiping relatives, the intransigence of their rabbi, the injustices of the modern world and the frustrations of old age. A particularly striking redhead jounced past me, and I only caught a side view out of the corner of my eye, but her rear view was breathtaking as she bounced away from me. I had been so intent on the rat a tat tat of the. He stumbled a little making Rose squeal, but then he regained his balance and carried her from the small parlour and into the hallway. Their housekeeper, Lydia Bennett, was standing there fighting a smile as Jim carried his wife upstairs but he did not care a whit. Once on the second floor landing he managed to open the door to their bedroom where he dumped a giggling Rose unceremoniously onto the bed."Either you gained weight or I am getting soft," he panted.A pillow landed in his face for his troubles and Rose shrieked when he pounced on her."No! Watch my dress! Eeek!"He had his mouth buried in her neck suckling on the soft skin and tickling her in the process. When he let go, Rose looked at him reproachfully."If I had any say I'd shave off those bloody whiskers! They tickle like hell!" What? You don't like that?" Jim asked innocently before nuzzling her neck again."Eeek! Stop that, please!" Rose shrieked. When he let go she glowered at him. "You can't make me scream like that..
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