Drink Life to the Lees

“Hey, how’s it going?” I looked up from my book at the person who had matched my stride as we crossed the quad. A glance was all it took: pale skin, a crop of red hair that seemed pale, too, and a suit with a tie under his jacket. He was looking at me with the vague empty look reserved for politeness between strangers. This guy wasn’t a classmate or an acquaintance. This guy was workin’ for the Lord. I returned to my book. “What are you reading?” asked Red. I could have ignored him. It might have been more proper and mature to ask him to please leave me be, thank you very much. But I didn’t; after all, I was working for a higher power too, and it seemed wrong to let this opportunity slip by. “Hemingway.” I flashed him the cover. “The Snows of Kilamanjaro.” “Wow. Is it intense?” I snorted without looking up from my book. “Intense? No, I don’t think so. Good, though.” “Do you like to read?” Red’s legs were longer than mine and he was outpacing me. Out of the corner of my...

I didn’t have to slide the envelope across the desk like some sort of sleazy movie villain. Liz simply strode across the room, planted a soft kiss on my cheek, and glided her hand over the envelope as she walked back towards the door, picking it up in a movement so fluid that I wasn’t sure it had happened at all. I’m not one to get easily distracted by a kiss from a woman, but I ought to give Liz her due; she was a professional, after all. Before she left she turned back to me. “Suppose he’s not interested?” she asked coyly. I smiled. “Not likely.” Liz smiled back. “No, it’s not. But some guys … some guys are funny. Suppose he’s not interested?” “If our boy Harold is able to withstand the full force of your … ample … persuasions, then both you and he are free to part.” Her piercing gaze lingered. “And of course,” I continued, “you will keep the money.” Liz nodded and turned to leave again. ...

The most honest feeling in the world is hot sunlight burning away the night before and illuminating a hangover. At that moment, you are feeling nothing else; there are no thoughts lingering in the back of your mind, no distractions from the edge of your senses, and no predictions whatsoever for the future. At that moment you have no mind, no senses, and no future. You sit in that harsh sunlight for a moment, part of you hoping that it will burn you out of existence. That’s what I was doing on the steps of Vanessa’s apartment building. Half of my face was molded into the cement step while the other half was letting the sun do its work. Neither was helping, so I pushed myself up and moved into the shade, which was a painful move and far too ambitious for my condition. A half-smoked cigarette sat by my left foot; I knew it was mine because I could still taste it in my mouth. I went to breakfast. The diner’s vinyl booth wasn’t much of an upgrade from the cement stoop, but I didn’t ...

The leaves have left, The pageant is over. The distant sun shines no more But glows, amber like wine. The air’s chill is ever-present, It walks beside and all through. Autumn has fallen, And winter, victorious, Tiptoes in on soft white specks.

On kind of a spur of the moment decision I went to see a movie tonight. It was a British comedy called, “Death at a Funeral.” It was a funny movie, and it was good to get out and do something different. Seeing a movie in Spain differs very little from seeing one in the States- or anywhere, I imagine. The only major difference was probably the assigned seats. Come now, we wouldn’t want people sitting where ever they wanted, willy-nilly. (Note: what’s Spanish for “willy-nilly”?) No matter where you are, though, Friday night movie crowds are good people. They’re not worried about anything, they have the weekend ahead of them, and they all at least have some sense of fun- otherwise, what’s the point of going to see a movie? They’re likely out with a partner or a group of friends, enough to put anybody in a good mood. I waited with my ticket in the lobby among my fellow movie-goers and the smell of popcorn. I had arrived far too early, proving once again that moving to another country doesn...

Candlepower- intensity expressed in candles Time passes differently in this reading room, I think to myself. Minutes turn into hours like the wax of the candle turns from a solid into a liquid, running quickly together and building up. I barely noticed when the sunset, and am only just now aware that I had lit the candle at all, let alone that it was my sole source of illumination. I lean over it carefully to blow out the flame that sits on a short nub of wax. Two things happen in that instant. The light in the room blinks out, of course, as the flame is extinguished. Also, as I stand there in the dark with my face above the candle, the last tendrils of smoke drift upward and into my nostrils. Instantly, decades of birthdays flash through my mind, a blur. I’m a child, standing up on a chair at the kitchen table, eyeing the cake my mom has decorated to look like a clown. I’ve just blown out the candles and everyone around the table- all family- is clapping. I’m slightly older, this time...