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Park City Grille
- University of North Texas Press
- Chapter
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27 Park City Grille After John Currin: oil on canvas, 2000 Caught in mid-titter, not meeting his gaze, chin tipped, she lets him study her true prize, the neck he calls long, elegant. It lengthens before his eyes, a mile of pale skin lit by platinum locks. Her bone-thin arm brings a hand to his lap under the table; he wonders if his coat’s walnut suede, which matches his hair, clinched it. Or did the place—rustic chairs, mountain wildflowers, a simple vase— make him sincere? Who cares. The neck continues to lengthen: a claret amaryllis so intent on meeting light it would tear its bulb out of earth, tip the pot by leaning. I can’t stop them and can’t stop looking. Someone make him feel his touch; make her feel her turning off-center—she’s smiling, letting him push. ...