Monthly Archives: June 2012
She came to me during the transit of venus.
The world was blue gray at dusk. I went to the beach to dry out, to forget, to find some peace.
I’d been a reporter when the war started. Which war? One of them; they weren’t numbered anymore. Some reaction to some act of horror and we send a thousand boys to a desert somewhere. It wasn’t important anymore.
I was working for the AP, I’d traveled to Kuwait first, then Kutar. During one of the endless rides across the barren plains the world exploded into fire. I saw three kids melt in front of me. Three others were torn apart. I only lost my arm.
Monsieur Desrosiers was, frankly, a curmudgeon. Around fifty, salt and pepper hair, a strong jaw, nearly six feet tall and roguishly handsome I think he was getting fed up with America very quickly.
I could only imagine what he thought of me and my horrible pronunciation.
It was one of those coincidences that happened a lot in the city. A friend of a friend. I’d met him at a party, on a rooftop, one a day much lovelier than the one of which I speak. We’d had too much wine, or I had wine and he had whiskey. We talked about art and the death of certain media. Somehow a conversation about Marina Abramović turned into something about kink and I made some vague comment about my own twisted predilections. He picked it up and and we danced around the subjects of bondage, S&M, roleplay.