“I don’t think I’ve ever…met him,” says the woman mostly to herself, scoping the portable plasterboard-stand near the entrance pasted with clippings and reminiscences, like something there might help her be more decisive....
He kisses the redial on his phone once again and orders another draft from the waitress, feeling like he’s becoming conspicuous sitting at the end of the bar near this open bay window to the sea, but gets no answer. Yesterday...
Recent Comments