(Somewhere in those days there was also an Italian snackery. The professor was walking me one evening–an unfortunate coincidence–and Irma crept by, just covered–no, overgrown–with spaghetti. I pretended not to know the dear, which bothers my conscience now. The prof, with many disdainful noises, tugged me away from this walking, dripping Italian meal. It was their first encounter, and led to many complications. At any rate her employment at Manrico’s Blue Grotto was short, and somewhat disgusting too.)
—Irma and Jerry