Eye and Guy
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Fall/Winter 2002

From the Editor
Thom Didato

Paul Auster

An excerpt from The Pearl of Kuwait
fiction by Tom Paine

"Law of Sugar"
fiction by Steve Almond

"Weekend Pass"
An excerpt from The Ecstatic

fiction by Victor LaValle

fiction by David Barringer

"Ultra Violets"
fiction by Karl E. Birmelin

fiction by Derek Jenkins

fiction by Gina Zucker

fiction by Diane Payne

"Red Sky"
paintings by Jacob Ouillette



Gina Zucker has published non-fiction in magazines such as Cosmopolitan, Rolling Stone, Us, and TimeOut New York. She's taught a writing workshop at the New School since 1999. This is her first published work of fiction.


But for one thing, the man and his girlfriend wanted the same things. On the one thing, he tried to sway her. "Think of the lack of sleep," he said. "Think of the diapers. Do you really want anyone to need you that much?" But the woman was unmoved. She said, "Don't exaggerate." As the years passed, she grew despondent. Sometimes she hit the man. At other times she cried. It's funny how someone you love can transform over time and yet you're too close too see it. One day, as he watched his girlfriend crawling around on the floor, the man realized she had become someone utterly different from the person with whom he'd fallen in love. Everything about her had changed. Her body had shortened and rounded to an almost unrecognizable degree. She wore terry-cloth bodysuits. She garbled words and didn't bathe herself. She ate mashed peas. Most heartbreaking of all, she had managed, as if by some kind of magic depilatory device, to become completely bald.

After a particularly embarrassing dinner with friends during which she had spit up on his shirt, he confronted her. "Look," he said, "Can't we discuss this like adults?" Instead of answering, she threw a bowl on the floor, spattering day-old peas. When he looked up, she grinned at him, toothless, ecstatic. It was too much. Scooping her into his arms, he ran from their building, through the darkened streets to the park. As he searched among the leafy paths for a place to leave her, he became aware of the small, if somewhat smelly, warmth of his girlfriend snuggled against his chest. He sobbed, fighting the urge to rub his nose on her scalp and kiss her with loud, wet smacks. As his tears fell on her head, she gazed up at him wide-eyed. Pure, unadulterated trust was staring him in the face. He gazed back. It was the beginning of a great love affair.


“San Francisco in the 1990s”
Chris Lombardi
Issue 16 - Winter 2005

"Behavior Pilot"
Matthew Derby
Issue 5 - Winter 2002

Photo Sigrid Estrada

Paul Auster
Issue 8 -
Fall/Winter 2002