[Intrepid Homoludens]

Was it my sadness filtering it or did Craig actually mix one of the smoothest, iciest martinis I've ever had? I lifted the chilled glass cone and sipped and prepared the next postcard, an ivory lighthouse on grey waves and charcoal sky. I heard thunder clap but didn't look over, I suspected the rain had intensified. The wet odour was refreshing, sneaking in with each opening of the door, and I propped my pen:

N.

I can only imagine you sitting on the floor in your living room, hunched over your art, creating it while your cat licks herself on the couch. This is good for me, I'm miles away, you see. Someone needs to keep the fort, and you are the most qualified. I'm miles away, floating in the grey ocean, floating in a giant martini glass and nibbling on a huge bleu cheese olive. I have nothing else at the moment to comfort me. We had talked about it, I plan on seeing someone professional. I'll make an appointment next week when I see my doctor.

Until next time, I have nothing to send you but the cool salty air and the distant wings of seagulls flying high above me. Much Love.

B.

There. I intimated myself, documented a dislocation. I could almost hear the torrent from outside, the loud music drowning it. But the rain smelled nearly as intoxicating as that of the icy drink I lifted to sip again, and I glanced up. My world shuddered.

There. There he was, his eyes open and still and locked onto me. My nerves flew in ten thousand directions, my breath interrupted. A convergence of frequencies seized me and I couldn't move. I had to run, my instinct leaping forward and dashing to the door. But the gravity of his gaze clamped me down abruptly, sweetly. I had no choice, I had nothing left.

I instantly cast my eyes to the side and tried to the lift the martini, my fingers shaking, and I sipped. I couldn't look there any more. I musn't. It was the source of the warm electrical current, I realized, and the shock was magnificent. I looked everywhere, anywhere else but there.

I tried studying the architecture of the bar, half guessing late Victorian inluence, hammered tin ceiling, moldings. Out of the corner of my eyes I could tell he continued to gaze. I tried discerning the various scale model houses on the high shelves, the owner's collection. He continued to gaze. I sipped my drink. He remained fixed on me. I saw myself clumsily gathering my things and hurrying out the door. But then I saw him swiftly and gracefully running after me.