Edward Hopper Room in New York painting

Edward Hopper Room in New York paintingEdward Hopper Chop Suey paintingJean Francois Millet The Gleaners painting
contrast, the bungalow of the three-eyed freak sat behind a half-dead front lawn, skirted by masses of unkempt shrubbery, at the end of a cracked and hoved concrete walkway. Under the Mexican-tile roof, the filthy tangles of long-empty birds’ sweat pants and a Megadeth concert T-shirt, Ned Hokenberry said, “You look like a damn mustard pot.”“It’s raining,” Corky observed.“You look like a pimple on Godzilla’s ass.”“If you’re worried about getting the carpet wet—”“Hell, scuzzy as this carpet is, a bunch of pukin’-drunk hobos with bad bladders couldn’t nests dripped from the eaves, and the stucco walls were cracked, chipped, in need of paint.The structure looked like the residence of a troll who had grown weary of living under bridges, without amenities, but who had neither the knowledge nor the industry, nor the sense of pride, needed to maintain a house.Corky rang the doorbell, which produced not sweet chimes but the sputtering racket of a broken, corroded mechanism.He loved this place.Because Corky had called ahead and promised money, the three-eyed freak was waiting by the door. He answered the tubercular cough of the bell even before the sound finished grating on Corky’s ear.Yanking the door open, looming, one great grizzled grimace with a pendulous gut and size-thirteen bare feet, wearing gray