2013-09-08 Archiv

Freedom from Family.

“But in Europe where—?” he calls after me, as the taxi pulls away from the curb. “I don’t know where,” I call after him, gleefully waving farewell. I am thirty-three, and free at last of my mother and father! For a month. “But how will we know your address?” Joy! Sheer joy! “You won’t!”

Portnoy's Complaint