I suppose one sees mirror images all the time if one survives on cocaine. Even if there aren’t any mirrors around.


While I was tempted to flee the bar, a niggling sense of responsibility held me to my seat. It pinned me right down. Right at the knife edged precipice of the yawning chasm of obligation.


Today, she has lavender irises of a serene woman, one secure in the comfort of not remembering, exempt from the punishment of knowing.