What's Stopping You?

Memory, like a gel-coated capsule. Not those bitter things I used to unexpectedly swallow, but a tasteless, odorless thing which gets stuck in my throat, until something cold and refreshing comes roaring in after it.

Memory. I am walking back from a club in Indy, slowly trudging along beside a woman whose heels have got the best of her. We've been talking all weekend, but there is something about the dark heart of Four A.M. which brings people closer together, and this is no different. She says something and I dissent. That's the sort of thinking which caused my divorce.

"You were married?" she asks, and again I dissent. Not married, no, but somehow we went through a divorce all the same.

"It's a strange thing not to mention in four days' worth of conversation."

Have I not been talking about it? ( Read more... )