January 18, 2007
Page 19
I still clearly remember the unusual afternoon of November 25, 1970. Strong rains had knocked down ginko leaves on a small path through the copse, dyed yellow like a dried-up river. She and I were wandering down the path with our hands thrust in our pockets. Our footsteps on the leaves and the keening cry of a bird were the only soun
"What on earth is bothering you so much?" she suddenly asked me.
"It's really nothing," I said. A little further down the path, she sat down and lit a cigarette. I sat down next to her.
"Do you always have bad dreams?"
"Frequently, yes, though they're usually about vending machines that won't give me any change." She laughed, put her hand on my leg, and drew it back.
Posted by tim at January 18, 2007 09:54 PM
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