tales from an ordinary world

2001-09-03

Dinner smells drift across four lanes of traffic and up to the window I'm looking out of while the tram waits at the lights. We speed past blocks of flats with open curtains, lights in different shades of yellow, TV reflections, people looking out their windows, waiting for something to happen. I don't feel like sitting down this evening. And there's a phone call I need to make.

It's true, I miss her voice. Her near-perpetual smile. The nice feeling of running my hand across her forearm.