"I'm crying because of all those Greeks," Bob said.
His face was so full of tears that there wasn't room for another tear. He tried to find enough room for one more tear but he couldn't find it, so he stopped crying.
"What Greeks?" Constance said and as the word's left her mouth, she knew what Greeks. It was those Greeks. She wished that she hadn't asked the question.
"The ones in the Greek Anthology," Bob said. "What about them?" Constance said and then realized that she'd said it. She felt as if she'd subconsciously set a trap for herself and then fallen into it.
"They're dead," Bob said.
His face was so full of tears that there wasn't room for another tear. He tried to find enough room for one more tear but he couldn't find it, so he stopped crying.
"What Greeks?" Constance said and as the word's left her mouth, she knew what Greeks. It was those Greeks. She wished that she hadn't asked the question.
"The ones in the Greek Anthology," Bob said. "What about them?" Constance said and then realized that she'd said it. She felt as if she'd subconsciously set a trap for herself and then fallen into it.
"They're dead," Bob said.
Willard and His Bowling Trophies-Richard Brautigan
