Guillem arrives late, as always, rapid-firing apologies at his boss as he bustles through the beach bar and pulls on his apron. He stops at my table first, pointing to my near-empty glass. “Another beer, Miss?” Miss. Sweet, when I’m old enough to be his mother.
For the week after the shipwreck, the Strongman and I lived off bananas, but he got sick off some tropical bug from bad stream water he guzzled uncooked.
My husband and I have our backs to the sea, fixed as we are on the puzzle. Plywood, 527 pieces, laser-cut with bird whimsies.
Henry lived inside the lie of the film set. He was an actor, not really an actor, but an extra.
Shit brick. That’s what my cousin Harry called it. He’s from Oxford. Nice down there. All the brick that way has a lovely gold-cream color to it, but I like our shit brick better.