November 6, 2003
Evening with one. The swirling pink liquid drips down her throat. The words unreadable as pen scrapes against a dead tree. Alone in her mind, conversations swirl around the corners of her mind. He arrives and the world falls away. Lunch with another. The ice clinks in the cool warmth of water and glides down her throat. Engaged in conversation in a new world of who we have become. He said she said they said we say. She is content with the world she has carved out of breath, discussion, choice and action. She has become friendly with the waitress.