Word: armchairs
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...TELEPHONE sat on the floor in the center of the living room--black, mysterious, almost untouchable out there all by itself. Martin, however, sat in the far corner of the room in the armchair that he knew he and his roommate had bought from a smiling sophomore for twenty dollars. He was daydreaming; his dark hair had fallen over his forehead and now partly concealed his empty eyes, but it could not hide the wanton slant of his grin. He had not moved for half an hour when he decided to make the phone call...
...FUNNY, the way Martin talked himself out of having a good time on that date. Delighted with himself, he had gone back to his room and had plopped into the armchair, all set to fantasize endlessly about this new girl. Susan. There was no doubt about it: she was tough. Short, slender, pretty, and so serious she was funny. Yeah, and probably popular too. Martin wondered if she had dated a lot. Probably. No reason why not. Hmn, probably some upperclassmen too, damn them--that biology lecture was filled with nothing but juniors and seniors...
Martin was up on Sunday by eight and in the living room, waiting, by nine. He sat in the hazardous old armchair and mediated upon the telephone. It reminded him of something biological; what? Yes, that picture in his tenth-grade biology book. A whole lot of snaky little cells and some great fat black ones. What the hell were those cells, anyway? Jesus, Martin thought, I can't remember anything any more. But it doesn't make any difference. Whatever that little one is, it sure looks comfortable lying up there--right in the groove." I mean a gross...
...funny dreams, and by day the tension was unbearable for him. Something was going to happen to him soon; he knew it. Every minute seemed to heighten the anticipation. He couldn't study any more--he couldn't even concentrate on wasting time. He began sitting in the armchair again and staring at the phone; why, he didn't know. He just sat and started...
Even a tourist-class guidebook-the kind written in hoked-up feature writer's prose-furnishes vicarious travel. Letters from Iceland is a first-class VIP travel book written by two poets; it provides not only the usual armchair transport but also a vicarious voyage into the past...