Back

Writing here is like coming back, after many months, to a restaurant I once loved. The waiter still knows my name and gestures me to my favorite table with an ocean view. Brings me bread. A candle flickers. "I'll have the chowder," I say when he returns. I inquire about his family. His youngest son has discovered that if he hops up and down long enough, his pants will fall down. We laugh. He leaves. Outside, the sun is falling too and the waves are iridescent. I imagine mermaids. Or sirens. But no one is going to sing my ship to the shoals tonight.