The Base

At the bottom of a beer mug there’s leftover foam, pistachios scattered on the table. She sat down.

— Problems? — a smile. Hollywood. And the legs—gorgeous hips, stilettos. I don’t care; my father died. Not today. Any time—just not today—and even the most beautiful legs can’t fill that bitter emptiness. I didn’t know it before. Life seems like a film: we just watch it, thinking that nothing will happen to us—catastrophes, terrorist attacks, anthrax. How painful and how pleasant it is to be disappointed in such a naïve opinion. You start feeling wiser and… more alive. I’ll answer—no need to be offended, girl.