Contemporaneous: Chapter 59
59. A woman sits behind a table just inside the door – she’s maybe fifty, with curly silver hair, pink horn-rimmed glasses, and wearing this mauve cardigan that weighs down her shoulders until they’re sagging. I want to say she looks good for her age, but then realize I’m her age, but just don’t see myself that way. I give her my name, she consults her iPad, ticks me off, and then points me to a table in the corner with the number “8” on it. There are other tables, too, guys seated at each, nervously smoothing out their hair or their blazers or whatever, a few of them even…
Contemporaneous: Chapters 48 – 49
48. “Back already?” Luca asks me, sitting against the table’s edge as he folds his arms across his chest. “Fuckface.” “That …” I say, like that one word will encompass the entire experience. That. And it does, but it also represents every stream of thought I have. I go with what’s strongest in my mind: Autumn. “Is that like punishment?” I ask. “You kill Autumn because I took my own life?” “You’re not that important, dickweed. A least not in some celestial sense.” “Autumn died—” “Shit happens.” “Shit happens? Who the fuck are you? Forrest Gump?” “Life is like a box of cuntings,” Luca says. “You never know when or…
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