Priscilla had a lot on her plate. So this was outrageous. How could this silly rat of a physician suggest that she walk! What did he mean "walk"?! Walk where? Priscilla knew from the moment she entered his practice that she’d made a mistake. She should have never listened to Alibert. Alibert was her husband and they had been together for the better part of their lives during which they had made approximately 327 children ...
There is an underlying network that either tightens or loosens whenever you find yourself in the company of friends. And of strangers. Anyone who at one point in their life worked in theatre knows that it can be a hostile home, a place where one might not always feel welcome. A place of competition and unrest. And yet there is a structure which holds a theatre together, a structure of love, of passion and of kindness.
I am in London and I can see the stars tonight. They're glistening and I wonder if the sensation has always been like this. I cannot remember the soles of my feet from when I was younger. London and I have grown apart during years of separation. There appears to be nothing left to connect us to the other and yet a feeling lingers.
The skeleton fish lay on that beach. It hadn’t lived in a year or so. Sand grind down its delicate frame with one eye turned up toward the sky. It was an eye intact, not feasted upon like the other. The skeleton fish knew of its demise, alas its journey here was dubious. How had it come to this?
There it was, my happy place, in the South of France. Each time upon entering I was reassembled into a new draft of myself. For hours I would stare at the sea. I would write, and eat, and sleep. And sometimes I would walk in the garden. Alone.
Sometimes the tiny lady opens the windows at both ends of her apartment and along with the odd lost insect an airy breeze flows through. For an instant the oh so opposite sides of the house are connected: the northern façade along the street with the southern façade facing jungled trees.
There is someone he likes. And he resists the temptation to assume any conclusion as to whether or not he likes him back. He tries to curb emotions with episodic rewatches of Mad Men. It doesn’t work. It is well past midnight and he is revisiting old friends. Some of them as old as he.
Froghert is impatient. He usually checks his greens every day at the same time and then hops out to face his routine. But today his frogoes are dirty. Forgetful as he has been lately, he failed to clean them last night. And it is her fault! She is the reason why he is so forgetful. Her name is Frogitty.