putterings       589   <   590   >   591       index

 
      “No,” I said. I was quite surprised. One of the things I had really been looking forward to was having that combination kitchen-bedroom all to myself, and cooking little things, and puttering, and playing the hi-fi: playing house, for all the world as if it were mine, and mine alone. After you’ve been on the streets for a while, living alone becomes the ultimate luxury.
      I was quiet, but Luke, I was sure, could hear me thinking, with that telepathy people develop when they are continually at the mercy of others...

ex Diane DiPrima, excerpt from Memoirs of a Beatnik (1969)
in June Skinner Sawyers, ed., The Greenwich Village Reader : Fiction, Poetry, and Reminiscences, 1872-2002 (Cooper Square Press, 2001) : 432-439 (438)
borrowable at archive.org : link
 

26 February 2026