Pablo always took the stairs but we met in the elevator. I had
seen him before. Down the hallway or in the earlier part of a
day. What are you writing? I forget which one of us asks for
the other’s name, but we do. From the first floor to the second. I
don’t tell him what I’m writing.
In the morning he’s holding a hot coffee cup. The outdoor
tables, shaded by just one tree or two. So what is the title of
your piece? Which piece? The one you’re writing. Just tell me the
title. And two sentences of what it’s about. Fine, I say, “The
Final Seduction.” That’s the title.
The sun is bright even though I have my sun hat on. I put my mouth
to the straw and cold water on my hand drops to my thigh, the iced
coffee is gone sooner than expected. Afterwards I realize how much I
had been sweating.
So. You write about men.
So. You write about men.
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