Barbarism


2010 1st Annual Incest Essay Edition: Cousins & Lovers
September 16, 2010, 1:16 am
Filed under: REBECCA

Just in time for Yom Kippur, Barbarism is proud to present the 2010 1st Annual All-Incest Essay Edition. I’ll begin the criminal congress:

Cousins and Lovers

Larry—a plump, untried and angry man of 38—takes a hesitant step outside of his chauffeur’s car. He is done up in slacks and sport shirt. A thick stream of sweat, unhealthily viscous, swims down his jowls. Stealthily, he slinks from the car to the curb to the threshold of a lovely restaurant and into its dim-lit dining room. His beady eyes frenziedly dart like shaky raisins in a sunken pudding. Meanwhile, Lydia—an undecided lass of 23 with a bottomless desire not to fuck shit up, to move forward, look homeward, live honestly, make peace with the past and transcend it—takes a quick turn at the street preceding the restaurant and heads in behind him. She is a mess of frowzled jeans and threadbare sweater as she rushes through the threshold to meet her cousin Larry. And boy, do they meet. Larry undergoes a slight, but noticeable spasm as he sees his young cousin edge around the standing patrons and slide towards his sweaty, shaky, dyspneal self. They sit.

Larry: (swiftly superficially recovering) So how are things in the big city? (followed by a too-loud slimy chortle and a noxious air of half-lidded hauteur)

Lydia: (uncomfortable, but bent on upright, limited confabulation) Oh, well, this isn’t really the center of things, but I like it very much. It’s been several years and I—

Larry: HEY THIS ISN’T A DATE OR ANYTHING

Lydia: Er… I.. what……

Larry: It’s not like I have to pay for you, or… anything else like that! You know what I mean, Lydia! Don’t you?! Don’t you KNOW ME? WON’T SOMEBODY KNOW ME?

Lydia: Hmm, I, oh, I don’t know what…

Larry heaves over his chair, disturbing the wine goblets at many of the tables nearest. Soaked with sweaty self-loathing and innumerable other secretions, he dramatically presents an ensiform set of car keys and with flourish, scuttles past the shocked and repulsed diners, the host, the dark, attractively glowing restaurant corridor, vestibule and runs, then disappears–in tears–through the night.

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