A lost generation

Good Friday, the thought of Easter dinner with mother and her self-righteous Upper East Side friends a violent tidal wave over the embankments in my mind. I gathered the strength I needed and escaped to Venice and Stephanie, she wanted to see me and I her.

I last came here when Chloe tried to cure the unhealthy Ernest Hemingway obsession she had developed after reading The Sun Also Rises one particularly hot summer. I don't remember much, one of the downsides to getting drunk on Bellinis every night for an entire week (also, it eventually shows up on mother's credit card bill). Chloe recovered and now prefers French literature to American. 

I guess I should have told her I was going back but I didn't know how. Instead I left a short note on her pillow, by now she will have read it and this time we're not a wasteland but an ocean apart.