“Nick said you could help me with Hamlet, Boonie,” Jennifer said. Black sweater, simple string of pearls. “My professor said Hamlet’s tragic flaw was original sin.” Her breath smelled of cigarette smoke, her hair of perfume as she bent toward me. “Sure, sit down.” The rustle of her wide gray skirt. Her elbow touched me. More perfume. Her knee touched mine briefly. “He means sort of nobody’s perfect,” I said. “He means that because the world’s not perfect you can’t control it and the best anybody can do is be ready, you know?” Cigarette smoke on her breath again and hint of Colgate, her mouth wide and smiling, her eyes the shape of almonds but much larger. “What in hell has that got to do with original sin?” I leaned back a little in my chair. Expansive. “I didn’t say it was a swell answer, your professor is kind of vague, but you know the theory of original sin?” Her smile again and the laugh lines deepening around her mouth; a tiny shadow formed beneath her lower lip when she smiled.
