The day is not over yet. The thought hit Sally, as she closes the door to her room. She shakes her head slowly, and smiles. Her optimist grandmother always said this to her. Sally can hear her raspy voice. She drops her purse, scarf, coat and kicks off her ankle boots, leaving a trail behind, before she falls backwards onto the bed with a loud sigh. With the soft support of the mattress and duvet, her body grows heavy and she feels the tension release from her arms, legs, back, shoulders, neck. She rocks back and forth a bit to soften even more.

A lot can happen in a day. Her mind wanders through the events, from the curious first encounter this morning to the poetic interlude at the bookstore, to the surprise of Herve, and the awkward good night in the lobby just now. Thank god the day is over. It feels like they’ve lived through an entire relationship in less than 24 hours. And they are not even a couple, let alone here to court the idea of one. They are here to write, darn it. What’s his problem?

Her eyes pop open. She takes a deep breath, rolls to the side and glances at the black old style dial up telephone on the side table. How can you not love Paris for keeping the past alive. Perhaps she should call Herve? Hmm… she closes her eyes. Nah. It’s late. She’s not going to be that eager. And who knows what he makes of her and Rick. Nothing actually. It makes her lips glad.

Rick pushes himself into her mind again. Him alone in his room. Probably in bed. Probably dying to call her. With a lame apology or a tally of questions. He did turn weird. He’s been rather intense and pushy all day, for a slice of her, for something. She doesn’t need an apology. She just needs him to calm the fuck down. It’s as if he came for her, not the writing.

She pushes herself upright and glides off the bed. And what story will they be writing. It’s just too obvious that they should fall in love and write their story. And to write about mature love, like, in older people, who find their long lost love again? What do they know about such love? She unbuttons her shirt and slides it off her shoulders. So now, she’s become a cynical romantic. She who likes to let life take her on adventures has a sudden need for control. Ha! Sally says it out loud.The irony of it all.

She looks at herself in the mirror. Her white skin looks velvety in the warm tones of the lamps. She likes her visible collarbones and the subtle texture of lace from her bra against her chest. Makes her feel delicate. She unzips her bra. She needs to set up a structure by which they write, each day. She pushes lavender tasting paste onto her toothbrush and walks about the room brushing vigorously and trying to not spill foam on the floor. What is Rick doing right now? Suffering. Probably. Pondering. She can feel it through the walls. She spits the lavender foam into the heart shaped sink, flushes her mouth, it’s not her fault, and crawls back into bed. 

The day is indeed coming to an end. Tomorrow, another chance. 

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    1. It’s funny … I have to go walk Pepper, but I really want to know what’s going on in Rick’s room. I’m going to suffer through the agony of waiting as Pepper really couldn’t care less about Rick or Sally or Paris or much other than is the pond frozen again and can I slide around on it and lick it some more like last week. Maybe Pepper is the smartest of us all: keep it real and just go for the simple pleasures in life.

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