The campfire is a little quiet tonight. It’s a cold night in the city, and I’m hunkered down over the flames, warming one side of my body, and then the other. The embers glow. Despite dog fidelity (and a cat making compromises with my laptop) I’m feeling a little heartsick. But I get that way when I see Ski, god forgive me for not being a truer friend. Unavailable men. They make the world go round. Hard to play for keeps when you’re competing against the dead lover’s memory. If the ghost ever pales, I’d better be the first in line. But companions on the road can be rare, and it’s not my style to want things black or white. I only wish his tent would sleep more than one.
True Stories with Teeth