Nothing
of now has a future except in memory where it is washed,
pressed,
hung
and stored, first in the front closet and then, when that show
has
closed, further and further back, so that over time
it
yellows, wrinkles, takes on the smell of old
cloth,
and is eventually taken out by the
wardrobe
mistress and piled with a
lot
of other old props for
immediate
disposal.
No comments:
Post a Comment