Friday, July 18, 2014


Elisa is a flawless revelation in her monochrome bikini, catching the afternoon's final sunlight on the balcony while I count beads of sweat like raindrops on her back.

She glows in airy lightness, the obviousness with which she turns toward me and speaks, how she says something, anything, whatever. I'm in the shade under layers of linen, an arm's length away from the hypnotic smell of coconut oil. Day by day passes by in our ever expanding bubble while I relate to my most important discovery over the last few weeks being that pale is better when it comes to rosé wines.

We make plans of vanity to keep from remembering, vaguely imagining a different future is the only drug that really works for me, the only high that lasts. Tomorrow is just hours away and I picture myself in ivory silk from Dior, my heels perforating the streets of Monaco with Henry at my side, his arm steadily around my waist in the golden sunset. We will be diamonds and stars and nobody will know who we are but everyone will wonder.

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Saturday, July 12, 2014


Every day I'm waiting for a rain that doesn't come, a sort of catharsis from this heat wave and the drought. In my mind the image of him in a downfall at the end of another July, an overblown meadow and the two of us helplessly unprotected from the floods and the thundering.

We're taken by surprise and drowned within minutes, my pale pastel pink summer dress like cellophane, glued tight in plastic transparency to my shivering body. He turns to me and looks at me closely, tells me to put my hands behind my back, then places his steadily around my thighs before he lays me down in the wet green of the grass. He's so adorably careful when he rolls up my dress, my panties have little black hearts on them and he kisses them softly one by one.

He comes up behind me on the balcony like a shadow. "What were you thinking" he asks and I tell him about how he undressed me and how we drove back in the most comfortable of silences and how I wore his overcoat in the car. How I forgot about the cold with him inside me and how I need him to fuck me in a rain like that again soon, just to keep from falling apart.

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Thursday, July 3, 2014


At the break of dawn on Wednesday, exhausted by the lack of stimulation, we decide to go for a drive in Elisa's car. First on La Corniche d'Or toward Miramar and then north, away from the sun. The morning light bounces softly off the cliffs and in to the ocean like fields of cotton, nothing disturbs the silence but the sound of the engine and tires against glistening asphalt.

We pass by a sandstone house, barely visible from the road but subtly alluring in its Belle Epoque glory. Henry wants to take a closer look so we stop and walk the 100 yards up to the empty driveway. One of the windows is slightly open, "let's go in" he says.

The darkened chill inside contrasting the outside, rays of sunlight filtered narrowly through Venetian blinds and on to the monochrome marble floor. We search for evidence of the owner's existence, puzzling together the pieces of a story from pictures we find in the master bedroom. For an instant we are living the lives of others until a noise awakens us and we hurry back to the car and the reality that is still ours.

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Wednesday, June 25, 2014

Forgive or forget

"I'm a vulture, Avy, I prey on the weakness of others and get my kicks from their misfortunes. I look for the frail in everything and break whatever I can while it's still within my reach. For this reason I've kept people I never cared about close to me, so that I can poison them with this sickness, this chronic misanthropy that's infested me for as long as I can remember. I've tried to fight it but I'm tired, Avy, I'm so fucking tired. It's only with you that I still recognize my own reflection and it's only with you that I sense a path through this darkness and the dirt, this numbing inability to feel anything but anger at this world and everything it stands for. It's my only way of knowing that I love you, and I will love you just as much even after you leave me."

This is what he says to me.

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Tuesday, June 17, 2014

You say you want a revolution

She comes to us sometimes late at night (or early in the morning), Elisa, climbs into our bed without so much as a whisper and settles down softly in between us. She moves with the inviolable elegance of a Siamese cat and never seems to notice much of the worried world around her. Occasionally she wants to be caressed, that's when she comes to us, dressed in silver and a translucent skin that smells of freshly cut green apples.

The other two - I call them Tom and Daisy - are reckless people, so unlike our quiet little pet. They left for Marseille a couple of days ago and took with them that urgent sense of nausea they produce by citing Lenin while counting their piles of digitalized money. The more I learn about them the less I want to know who they are, Henry tells me they became what they are together and I'm sure he's right.

We're continuously making new plans while changing or abandoning the old. His latest idea is to steal a car and drive north, away from the coast and the tourists. "I'm sick of the ocean" he says, "I never thought I'd feel that way but I do. I really do".

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