Some nights.

There are no buses. We've only been waiting for forty minutes. Let's just walk, it's not coming. It's far. Lets just walk.  I was buzzing. Even when they griped and took off their heels to walk on the dirty, cold marciapiede, I grinned quietly to myself. It had been cool. Florence, almost two years ago. When we …

By the time the fisherman returns.

By the time the fisherman returns I will have forgotten the six-letter word that makes my head feel heavy. I will have grown my hair, and remembered the way that wet morning grass feels on my feet; or wet evening grass, as a fire crackles nearby. By the time the heat bugs buzz in the …