There’s more destruction after the party. Too much more:
Samuel Edmunds, the local watercolorist, is passed out in my favorite reading chair. His chiseled chest is bare. His shirt is lost and he has dried slobbers on the left corner of his mouth. His n*****s are hard and he has something white on his navel that looks like ejaculation, or dried whipped cream. Neither Fazan, nor I, are sure. Not that we really give a damn.
Beverly Donovan, the mayor’s daughter, only twenty-two and hooked on codeine, is on the floor with some jock-f*****g-football player from Pitt. The dude is naked with a limp, four-inch d**k. He spoons her. The toast of the town. A f*****g dreamboat Christmas card for Daddy if you’ve ever seen one. The best of the best wasted.
There’s Paul Glitting, too. The professional
