The next week, I shaved and trimmed my hair, and my skin’s got some color. It’s all those lonely hours you see, between classes, sitting under the scorching sun watching the waves crash and spill, crash and spill over the rocks.
On the fourteenth day, I am thinking of you-you-you, how I want us to forget the coffee and drink cold beer in a pub under the low lights, down the street. I want to drink beer with you, rum and vodka, all of it, as my fingers brush against your neck, while my wife does her rotations at the hospital.
See, it’s her job to save people.