Sick child

Red Jello

You can write, I tell him. He talks about inspiration, and I tell him that stories ask to be written everywhere you go. Sometimes they mix with memories and experiences. The waitress pours us both another cup of coffee. She has the same colour hair as me and is about the same size as me. The rain is heavy outside …

Woman, drinking

Chelsea Pines Inn reunion, 1998

Distant sirens, the sash window open. Amber street light making strange the white bed. “Do you remember what you used to call me?” she says, smiling sadly, as she pulls her feet under the covers. He is mid drink, and when he hears her, his drinking pace holds steady, but his eyes close. He finishes his drink. “No”, he says, …