The ancient slogan Buy 'em by the sack hummingĭeep in my head, jaw working to grind the slider into swallowable chunks, I turned back to stare out the window at the house. Then I did more or less as Gilbert had suggested-pushed it into my mouth whole. I always had to look inside a White Castle, to appreciate the contrast of machine-tooled burgerĪnd nubbin of fried goo.

Top of the bun to examine the grid of holes in the patty, the slime of glistening cubed onions. I helped myself to one of the tiny burgers. 'Eatmeeatmeeatme,' I shrieked again, letting off more of the pressure in my head. 'Stuffinyahole.'Ĭoney didn't rate any special consideration from me. Now he nudged the bag of White Castles in my direction on the car seat, crinkling the paper. Accustomed to my verbal ticcing, he didn't I could barely make out the words-'My mouth is full'-both truthful and a joke, lame. 'Maufishful,' said Gilbert Coney in response to my outburst, not even turning his head.

But that itch is soon a torrent behind a straining dam. The urge to shout in the church, the nursery, the crowded movie house. My words begin plucking at threads nervously, seeking purchase, a weak point, a vulnerable ear. Reality needs a prick here and there, the carpet needs a flaw.

Only-here's the rub-when they find too much perfection, when the surface is already buffed smooth, the ducks already orderly, the old ladies complacent, then my littleĪrmy rebels, breaks into the stores. Everywhere they're smoothing down imperfections, putting hairs in place, putting ducks in a row, replacing divots. They're an invisible army on a peacekeeping mission, a peaceable horde.

The cornucopia of my brain to course over the surface of the world, tickling reality like fingers on piano keys. (If I were a Dick Tracy villain, I'd have to be Mumbles.) In this diminished form the words rush out of The noise suppressed, the words escaping silently, mere ghosts of themselves, husks empty of breath and tone. My mouth won't quit, though mostly I whisper or subvocalize like I'm reading aloud, my Adam's apple bobbing, jaw muscle beating like a miniature heart under my cheek, I'm a carnival barker, an auctioneer, a downtown performance artist, a speaker in tongues, a senator drunk on filibuster.

Lethem motherless brooklyn