Little Perversions
The city is lonely and my bedside table is in disarray. Cherry cola fizzes in a champagne flute. A ragged copy of Albert Camus’ The Fall holds a position of importance in place of a Bible. It’s bookmarked at Jean-Baptiste’s recollection of that warm autumn night by the River Seine. I like to reread that passage when I can’t sleep. Next to it, there’s a half-smoked joint in a vintage glass ashtray that I stole from an ex-lover’s apartment. I can’t remember his name, but there’s something...
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