The History of Love.

This one is Dedicated to my Favorite writer:

Ms. Nicole Krauss, this is to revived her beautiful novel called:

THE HISTORY of LOVE and  i want to share this piece of literary work

to all the readers who really want to know the true meaning of LOVE.

Note: I will do my best to write the Original text based on the Original

book (means theres no Edited.), hope you like it.

 THE LAST WORDS ON EARTH

When they write my obituary. Tomorrow. Or the next day. It will say,

LEO GURSKY IS SURVIVED BY AN APARTMENT FULL OF SHIT. I'm sur-

prised i haven't been buried alive. The place isn't big. I have to struggle

to keep a path clear between bed and toilet, toilet and kitchen table,

kitchen table and front door. If i want to get from the toilet to the front

door, impossible, I have to go by way of the kitchen table. I like to imag-

ine the bed as home plate, the toilet as first, the kitchen table as second,

the front door as third: should the doorbell ring while I am lying in bed,

I have to round the toilet and the kitchen table in order to arrive at the

door. If it happens to be Bruno, I le If it him in without a word and then jog

back to bed, the roar of the invisible crowd ringing in my ears.

          I often wonder who will be the last person to see me alive. If i had to 

bet, I'd bet on the delivery boy from the Chinese take-out. I order in four

nights out of seven. Whenever he comes I make a big production of find-

ing my wallet. He stands in the door holding the greasy bag while I won-

der if this is the night I'll finish off my spring roll, climb into bed, and

have a heart attack in my sleep.

         I try to make a point of being seen. Sometimes when I'm out, I'll buy

a juice though I'm not thirsty. If the store is crowded I'll even go so

far as dropping my change all over the floor, the nickels and dimes skid-

ding in every direction. I'll get down on my knees. It's a big effort for me

to get down on my knees, and even a bigger effort to get up. And yet.

Maybe I look like a fool. I'll go into the Athlete's Foot and say, What do

you have in sneakers? The clerk will look me over like the poor schmuck

that I am and direct me over to the one of Rockports they carry.

something in spanking white. Nah, I'll say, I have those already, and then

I'll make my way over to the Reeboks and pick out something that doesn't

even resemble a shoe, a waterproof bootie, maybe, and ask for it in size 9.

The kid will look again, more carefully. He'll look at me long and hard.