I've also been reading more. Actual books, that is. And buying way too many. But there is something to looking at those piles stacked around the rooms of my house. All that knowledge and history and art right there at my fingertips. And recently I picked up a magazine, a physical, paper magazine, and have occasionally again started sitting with a newspaper in the mornings. There's something about spreading it out on a table with a nice cup of coffee. Oh, the solitude...
She set a match to the candle wick. It casts a circular glow in the room. The glasses sparkle, the silver cutlery glimmers. Everything is in its place, but she can't help straightening a fork, adjusting a champagne flute. Her stomach flutters with a year's-worth of expectation. she glance in the mirror, its tarnish softened by the light, How many years? She can't believe 100. She takes her seat at the head of the table. "Is everybody here?" "Then let's begin." She says. She raises her champagne glass to the empty room.
The sea brought small treasures back to the shore that The Girl scours every day. She finds little things buried in the wet sand, she fills her pockets with them and walks back home. She lays the little treasures around the house. She wanders around, from one room to the other ; one is dark and cold. The AC works but the light doesn't when she flicks the switch.
"The summer rain in Mexico City has been driving Meme del Real crazy. "This season of permanent torrential downpour gets to a point where you're like, ' Enough,' he says with a sigh. "There's people who really enjoy it, but I'm done. It's too much introspection to be in here all day, to not be able to go outside. It forces you to try other things, to find a conversation within that rather than a resistance."