Fiction
Olivia Robinson was and is much worse than I am. She’s also, in the sense that matters to her and to our world, much greater.
A very Russian turn of events: no solutions, but the trouble passes—so why bring it up?
Is that bizarre? he asked. That such a brief experience of love was too much?
He had Alex now, he thought. He wouldn’t feel those old pangs. But the loneliness greeted him like a—well, not so much like an old friend. But. You know. Like loneliness.
The videos were different from anything I’d ever seen. Rope, leather, buckles, straitjackets, Lycra, latex, gas masks, ball gags. The women had ideas and Vanessa let them act the ideas out.
This was a real friend. Like old times—better times. When your chip bags spilled over and your idols reeked and all your friends tried to kill you.
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