French Exit
Malcolm was yet in his suite. He was speaking to Susan on the phone. “Let’s eat food, for lunch,” she said. “Can’t do that.” “Let’s drink a drink in a bar.” “No.” Recalling certain past behaviors, she deduced he was in the grips of the hotel unwellness. In a patient...
The Sea, The Sea
After lunch I cut off a length of my rope and tied it onto the iron banister at the tower steps, and now it trails handily into the sea, moving darkened in the waves. I have knotted the seaward end for easier grasp. I have had less success with the ‘cliff’ for the...
On Love
The telephone becomes an instrument of torture int he demonic hands of a beloved who doesn’t ring. When Chloe called a few days later, I had rehearsed my speech too often to deliver it correctly. I was caught unprepared, handing socks on a rail. I ran to the...