Word: snyde
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...breathless, almost speechless, practically without a metaphor from desire. Hot desire. Warm, tanned, crimson desire. That she should come with me. Through the cold December Yard into the pink April of Albiani's for some coffee--April, no extensions--just in case, I borrowed twenty cents from Snyde...
Even though it was December, the winter around us with all its vital austerity, I asked her to my room again and again. But again and again, Snyde stayed around. Snyde--blond, from Beacon Hill, via Concord Reformatory--I hated him. He stayed around, picking his nose, reading old Crime book reviews and playing those acid esoteric Mozart quartets when I wanted Fantasy in Flyland and Ravel to work upon her soul...
Suddenly one night, as I was walking beside Peter up Garden Street, it hit me. He was chaperoning. Him. My buddy. I ran all the way back to the room. I must know. "Snyde," I pleaded with him, "What is it? You've got to tell me. If you don't, who will...
There were seventeen problems: money; passports; tetanus-typhoid-yellow fever shots; a Greek landlady bearing an expensive product (Snyde would say, Beware! I hated him); reservations on a plane carrying ginger ale to be served with Dramamine at Gander; German, French, Italian, and Spanish for the Swiss Alps; Greek for the return voyage...How else could we preserve the rapture of passion which comes when you eat pastry at the Patisserie Cafe Morceau beside the girl you love...
...passport office refused to issue Peter's passport, because she was a transvestite from Brooks House, employed by the Yale Daily News to find out what was shoe at Radcliffe. Harvard rusticated me for getting an E in Fitzway's course. My notes were all on Peter, and Snyde refused to lend...