He treated women as he did words: He played with them.
He still trusted his strength and his memory, but not his judgement. That part was no longer with him. It escaped somehow when he wasn’t paying attention.
Standing there, shriveled, he notices the cleaners didn’t put enough starch in his shirt; he needs the added back support these days – spineless, you see.
Like a mother’s lullaby in a foreign tongue
Her father stood up from his seat slowly until he towered over the Mayor whose head now reached no higher than the Butcher’s paunch. And like the volcano that created their island, he erupted…
She could no more fill it with food and drink than one can fill an entire living-room with only memories of the departed.