7 p.m. in L'Escala — Off Assignment
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7 p.m. in L'Escala — Off Assignment
There’s nothing to be done about the damp, the slow seep of salt into every crevice, every board. Every sweater she owned felt damp to the touch. The low mist rolled in overnight, only to burn off in the sun, but nothing ever fully dried out before darkness fell again.
Across the shallow beds, the rock flats are stained ochre, bright goldenrod, and
... See moreI walk to Salvatore’s Foreign Books on Mount Auburn Street. I worked there six years ago, in 1991. After Paris and before Pennsylvania and Albuquerque and Oregon and Spain and Rhode Island. Before Luke. Before my mother went to Chile with four friends and was the one who didn’t come back.
-Lily King, Writers & Lovers
The afternoon is later than it feels. The sky becomes a sunsetting yellow. The kind of color a cowboy would have to walk toward. The window above my head opens, and Lee calls out to me that some game is on. I look toward the door where, always one second ahead, there is the possibility of myself. I think, Don't hurry. I stand slow. But don't wait.
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