I guess you are him. Larry Spector switched off the light over his mirror, took two steps backward, and fell onto his bed. Twenty-eight inches long and growing longer every time Larry opened another bottle. Carolyn had once called it obscene. It had been shorter then.
All art is obscene.
He propped his head up on two oversize pillows and pulled a quilt over his legs. He picked up a book from where it lay open, face down on the floor, half under the bed. Its smell said textbook. He found his place and read from Rene Descartes' Second Meditation . Rene was talking about wax. . . .