I’d ask myself, How did I get here? How did this happen? then remember, and forget again, and carry on like everything was normal, which of course it was.
He was the colour of honey, a few freckles across his shoulders, his pale-pink nipples catching the sunlight.
Finally, I sat in the barber’s chair. “Not too short,” I said. “You want me to cut your eyebrows?” he asked.
Gone in six seconds
Nathan imagines they’d be caught and, besides, the man may be a serial killer, so suggests the cruising park behind the Hilton instead. Much safer.
A self-saucing pudding
Nathan, whose greatest fear is that he’ll develop a resistance to Botox, returned from Frankfurt with the face of an inexpressive eight year old.
A man at another table pointed at me, his hand trembling, and said, “Itzak Stern sat there.”
Fat fatty fat fat
Elli leaned closer, his face serious, and told me something surprising. At least, I was taken by surprise.