she did. After the lamp goes out, what answer to life is there but a swan dive into unseen waters, which he demonstrated from the bar stool before he left. Hero was her name. He wrote his for me in water sweated by his glass."
Incorruptible, this victim's wisdom. His chief advantage. That, and the aquiline features which prove irresistible to the right company. He likes a busy port, and turns to one when he misses the human music. Rumble. Rattle. Hum. Ships have no business being in the water, as any seasoned sailor will tell you. Only those flat, floating barges seem to acknowledge their lack of power and control. Such a dying enterprise. But misplaced sentiment keeps lots of things going. Early morning. Dirty rag of fog on the water, dirty lap of water against the pilings, pilings of wood and wrack along the shore. Brutal, almost quiet, except for the gulls and scuttle. Smokestack on the water. Stylus. Like one of those fat fuckers his father used to pay bills. The little boat everyone pulls for pulls it safely through the channel. Picture. Perfect.
"Don't worry. I'll breathe for you, the way it's done in the movies when they show this kind of love. It might be that those messages from the table, sights and sounds in the cloud-blue eyes of the near dead, are really vestiges of lost beginnings. Ping. If hell is a place of unquenching fire (admittedly a late and clumsy addition), fanned by the earthly air we breathe, where, then, is heaven? 0 wine-dark sponge! Can't you see, darling, the shapes my slow heart beats as it warms the FUGUE#Jl
The Literary Digest of the University of Idaho