Imogene had profane thoughts, so profane were her thoughts that she fretted she might utter shit or bastard at the wrong moment and with toiletry. She once said cocksucker in a crowed fovea (as she was cowed in the folds of a fat woman’s stomach) and fuck-me silly in an elevator with a priest, two sisters and a garage attendant. She upset a Methodist, his three children and they’re Filipino nanny at a children’s playgroup for no other reason than she felt like it, or her mouth did. Imogene read and reread Puncheon’s V. because she liked the principal character’s name and the fact that Puncheon hated having his picture taken, which she did, too. She died while shopping for a tea-cervix at the Harry Pottery Barn, twisting her eyes-glasses and loosening a molar, which was rotten and piecemeal anyhow, and falling into the Methodist who happened to be there browsing for a rookery-board with the Filipino nanny who had on a fulcra sweater with mauve piping and a Mason’s hat shaped like a trowel.
