Our heroine Abby, now half naked, lies on a white bed with her long legs open. She has an old copy of True Love face down on her bosom. She was reading the Last Word, some rushed article …
I was supposed to have written this yesterday, instead I’m writing this on a Sunday morning. It’s a still morning. No ripple. The sky the colour of colic. There is the droning sound of a plane passing somewhere 25,000 …
