"Standing at the mirror, I tilted my hat over one eye and examined myself. The image in the glass seemed only vaguely familiar. I didn't like my new tie, so I took off my coat and tried another. I didn't like the change either. All at once everything began to irritate me. The stiff collar was strangling me. The shoes pinched my feet. The pants smelled like a clothing store basement and were too tight in the crotch. Sweat broke out at my temples where the hat band squeezed my skull. Suddenly I began to itch, and when I moved everything crackled like a paper sack. My nostrils picked up the powerful stench of lotions, and I grimaced. Mother in Heaven, what had happened to the old Bandini, author of The Little Dog Laughed? Could this hog-tied, strangling buffoon be the creator of The Long Lost Hills? I pulled everything off, washed the smells out of my hair, and climbed into my old clothes."
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Novelists from the United StatesShort story writers from the United StatesScreenwriters from the United StatesBlind peoplePeople from Denver
Original Language: English
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Chapter Eight
https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/John_Fante
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John Fante
John Fante (April 8, 1909 – May 8, 1983) was an American novelist, short-story and screenwriter of Italian descent. Author Dan Fante was one of his sons.
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