Jun 01 1992
The Big Bang and the Good House
The morning is thick enough to stir with a spoon. The tower of waffles is cold in a puddle of congealed syrup, mark on her collarbone, which she taps distractedly with a pencil. Replying to her students’ journals occupies hours of her weekend. “Look here,” I say. “they think the universe might have arisen out of pure nothing.” From the newspaper I read: