Soirée Ambiguë

She was the only girl on the beach who kept her top on.

He sat by the surf with his tuna brochette and Perrier and glanced at Beth's naked breasts, then at the girl.

She was reading “The Sun Also Rises” in Italian.


For the soirée ambiguë he borrowed a red dress with white polka dots and some rouge.

She wore a black suit and tie. Standing under the acacia tree she reminded him of Charlie Chaplin.

For the longest time he stood behind her until she turned around.

She walked away.

He took the joint Beth had given him and crawled into the gorse bush in the middle of the courtyard.

Alone and unseen in the midst of all the gabbing students, he lit up.

With a quick rustle someone swept aside the branches and crouched beside him.

~ ~

more about him, Beth, and her:
Since July

words: Jónas Knútsson, Iceland (more)
photo: Ludowika Swoboda, Austria (photo gallery)


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