Wine runs thick in my blood. It is a year to the day that I left England. Where did the time go? It slithers through my fingers. I can't hold on to it. I read about the high rise fire. Did any of my friends live there? I don't think so. I grieve for the people who didn't get out. I shop for a condo. I try not to think about fires. Or earthquakes. ~ You are hard to seduce. I know it. My desk is crowded, a nest of debris, little cups holding saved components of old projects. My car gets a terrible rattle. It costs me $1700. I second guess my upcoming road trip. I'm second guessing my road trip, I write my best friend, who is/was on the itinerary. My car just cost me $1700. No. No? I write back. It's phrased funny, but I can almost hear her thick panic, her grasping at talking to any other adult, her need, through the single word. No. Well, okay. I guess I'll do it, if she needs me. I reorganize my money in my head. I make quick lists of propmasters to contact before my gig is up. I'll go see her. I will. ~ The couple go to Montreal. They send me photos of their wine glasses, the candle light, a pair of Japanese newlyweds. I grieve for the kind of relationship I don't have, even while I relish their attention. I can't wait for this job to be over. . Rosie.
Before&After
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