Door In Your Eye, from 'Everything Ravaged, Everything Burned,' Wells Tower

I have a crush on Wells Tower. What is written on the internet is written forever, I know, so I do not want to write any more on this topic lest I embarrass myself beyond belief - but there you have it, I have a raging crush on Wells Tower, insofar as you can have a crush on someone who you've only read one book and a handful of articles by (though as a child I had a crush on Astroboy, so perhaps you don't even need to be real or have human legs to impress me). Part of me simply appreciates the fact that someone is named Wells Tower, let's be honest, but his collection of stories, 'Everything Ravaged, Everything Burned', is also one of the best things I've read recently. I noted with pleasure when reading it that there was a good amount of food, particularly in the story 'Retreat', which has an especially disconcerting, slightly stomach-churning passage. I wanted to post that one, but since it's quite long and integral to the story, I thought I'd post an excerpt from 'Door In Your Eye' and suggest you buy the book to read the other story instead. Here, eighty-three year old Albert, recently moved in with his adult daughter, visits the prostitute across the street who he has been observing for some time...

'You were right about this dope,' I said after a while. 'It does make you crave something to eat.'

'You hungry?'

'Oh, yes,' I said.

'Well, don't look at me,' she said, 'I can't be cooking now. This is one of my busy days.'

'What about that?'

'What?'

'That tomato. We could eat that,' I said, 'It looks ripe.'

'You want to eat my tomato?'

'Sure,' I said.

She reached out and snapped the tomato off its vine and handed it to me.

'You don't want some?'

'Nah,' she said, 'Go to town.'

I took a bite. It was delicious, full of the strong, green flavor of the vine. So much juice ran out that Carol stopped me and went to get a towel. The juice ran down my chin. I could feel my beard getting heavy with it, but I didn't care.

I was nearly finished when Carol motioned me over to the open window. Charlotte had gotten home. She was out on the porch next to my empty chair, holding the crabs in a white paper package, turning her head up and down the street.

'Is that your daughter?'

'That's her,' I said.

Charlotte shouted out for me, a yell as loud as a bullhorn.

Carol seemed not to hear. She held up the little remnant of our cigarette. 'You want any more of this?' she asked.

'No, thank you,' I said.

She licked her fingers and pinched it out, and then she popped it in her mouth and swallowed it.

Down below, Charlotte yelled for me again. 'You're not going to see about her?' Carol asked.

'I put my hands on the windowsill and stuck my entire head out into the afternoon. The wind chilled the wetness on my lips and my chin. 'Hey,' I called out to my daughter, 'Hey, Charlotte, look up here.'