"She's reading Allen Ginsberg." the husband says nodding his head in my direction. "Ever read Allen Ginsberg?" he asked his wife.
"No! Of course not! Why the hell would I?!" she said belittling her husband.
In that era of writers, Ginsberg wrote boring rants about drugs and cops.
Huxley and Kerouac, wrote about sex, orgies, opening one's mind.
I normally don't read Ginsberg. I just happened to be reading him on this particular day.
The husband lowered his glasses to see which Ginsberg book I was reading. I normally would have just told him, but his wife was such a cunt I didn't dare attempt any literary conversation. According to his wife one of could end up pregnant. And I'm on the pill, so...
I mind my business. Let those two lovebirds work it out.
"I remember reading Ginsberg in college. I wonder if they're still teaching about him in political science?" the husband comments to no one in particular.
By the way. Yes. They are still teaching him in political science classes.
The wife was thoroughly annoyed her husband brought up Ginsberg, again.
"Who cares if they're still teaching him! Ginsberg. What is he, a Jew?" the wife intellectually contributes. And then she adds, "If you want to look at girls, at least look at pretty girls. Look at her. Now she's pretty. Look at her finger nails."
I imagine the wife has been belittling her husband for years. I also imagine he's been cheating on her for the duration of those years. Probably with a girl who reads. Christ, I hope so.
The husband flips open his laptop and ignores his wife. I bury my head into another boring chapter by Ginsberg.
The wife just sat there.
Quiet.
Alone.
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