Friday, March 12, 2010

A Tightness of the Soul

She paused to adjust her sunglasses as he stepped into the street and disappeared: whisked brutally away by the front of a bus.


She woke up three years and four hundred lovers later, hung over with stiff shoulders in a tatty biege wall, purple gauze room she didn't know. The girl in bed next to her rolled over and, gaga makeup eyes still closed, asked a question Z couldn't parse.


Her arthritic hands were finally conking out on her, the snow doing them in, no longer clattering along the keyboard.