You took me to a terrace overlooking the harbour, the sky darkening with rain clouds. On the doors were carvings of various figures, the faces scratched out. I sat down at a table and ordered a small abstract painting and an omelette. If I learned more of the language, I thought, I could order something different next time. – Don't gesticulate so much, he said as we stood in the parking lot; you might be mistaken for a gang member and get shot by a rival gang. The sign in the library read: Keep the Door Close at All Times. Shelves stacked with books, recordings, boxes of manuscripts. – Oh, she was really sweet, you said, but she was always drunk. Hanging from a board outside the station: a Missing poster, the image so weather-damaged as to be useless. He became convinced that his psychotherapist was a witch; however, she was clearly appalled when he told her. They found numerous shards of black porcelain bowls, some bearing inscriptions. An oil lamp the only light. The house, he'd written, suffers on a journey.

 

Copyright © David Miller, 2006.

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David Miller published four books in 2005: The Waters of Marah: Selected Prose (Shearsman Books), Spiritual Letters 1 & 2 (Reality Street Editions) Spiritual Letters 3 (Stride), and The Dorothy and Benno Stories (Reality Street Editions). He lives in London.