Fiction | December 01, 1992

This story is not currently available online.

Foster glumly surveyed the wreckage of the Sloanes co-op.  As architect for the renovation of their East Side “dream” home, it was he who was accountable, though not responsible, for the current state of disaster.  Electrical cables sprouted from uncovered junction boxes, lights dangled lopsidedly from the ceiling, scratches and gouges adorned previously unblemished walls.  Beside the entertainment unit a new hole filled with capellini-thin wire had somehow appeared overnight; Foster had no idea what it was for.  He made a note on his clipboard to ask Ron what Earl Sloane was up to now.

If you are a student, faculty member, or staff member at an institution whose library subscribes to Project Muse, you can read this piece and the full archives of the Missouri Review for free. Check this list to see if your library is a Project Muse subscriber.