Suzanna.
Oh, Suzanna.
Dancer's body. Perfect face. The traffic noise of horns and streetcars clickety-clacking their way past cannot begin to diminish the deep, intoxicating tones of your voice. Stretching out towards me in that way only you can, loose top revealing just enough, College a blur of humanity in the background. But who, in your presence, could possibly notice?
Beyond you...the abyss!
Platonia.
Ok...
Darling, have you heard about Platonia?
You, my unlikely intellectual, telling me about the abscence of time. Some scientist at some university southside says it just does not exist. Everything, in a sense, is happening now.
No Future. No Past. Literally.
Topics change. Your big bracelets trapping constantly against the surface. First the antipasto and then the mains. Fresh, rustic bread served on elongated, narrow plates with puddles of olive oil. Cheese courses. Thick espresso and heavy chocolate cakes.
To think that this was the night before our vacation...
The next morning, as we bundled the bags into the limousine and drove through the concrete hell that leads to the airport, I just kept coming back to Platonia.
What an odd idea.
The plane lifting off.
Looking down I fancied that I could see our house.
Jeff must really hope that Platonia is true. There alone in the basement. No way out.
Really...time is not otherwise on his side.
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