I woke up in the dark, messy rive droite flat of a tall, dark man from Strasbourg
He kissed me on the cheek and told me to sleep as long as I’d like, then shuffled out the door in his suit and tie and black attaché case.
( It was so cliché that if I hadn’t of lived it I wouldn’t believe it.)
I slept another hour or something (in awe of his capacity to be not only awake but dressed and out the door at 9.) I managed to find one boot, two boots, pants, bra, my favorite black sweater... drink some water from the faucet, put the champagne flutes in the sink, made the bed.
Right next to the bed, on the floor, was an issue of Playboy, the new French GQ, and an Italian dictionary. It was so cute I had to take a picture.
I left him my card.
1 comment:
U know, is like a poem in prose.
And I like:"I left him my card". It can say nothing and yet can say alot.
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