Saturday, 28 July 2007

70: break up with Carol, again

Carol is already at the café. She is sitting at a table near the window. The table, and a bit of her skirt, are obscuring her knee.

Carol’s knee feels obscured. It feels like something in costume, something peeking out from behind a mask. It feels playful and indestructible.

Carol is drinking a cup of tea.

She sees me come in.

I don’t go and sit with her straight away. I go and buy a tea first and carry it over to the table.

You’re late, she says.

Hi, Carol, I say.

You’re three quarters of an hour late, she says.

Sorry, I say. I was flyering on my way.

Flyering for what? she says.

For Ian, I say. Ian is lost.

Oh, she says.

There is a long pause. I sip my tea. Carol sips her tea. I sip my tea again.

This is hard, I say. I don’t quite know how to say this, I say.

Say what? Carol says.

That I don’t think we should see each other anymore.

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