Alternative history of writers: 4

September 25, 2008

Gertrude Stein serves lunch in the hospital cafeteria. Wedged into black t-shirt, trousers and macca-style paper hat with red piping, she ladles out innominate soup to traumatised interns, piles potato gems over the lips of thin cardboard cartons for hyperadrenalised nurses. I ask her how she feels about her work. “Some people get emotional about chips but I don’t,” she says, “I don’t get emotional about chips. But cutting up a potato cutting cry I cry when cutting up a potato.”

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