We had a fight about art, which was really about meaning and existence, which was really about money and the rent, which was really about Annie being pregnant again and seeing her future narrow into a lightless tunnel.

The final tapas were canned olives but I drank Green Line and talked trash about frugal mutual friends.

Alone together; an ocean of arrowed reason

Optimism/Denial

My mother's ashes spread upon the foamy surf.

Amuse Bouche