Confession, with the Light Left On

After Diary

Ager vulgus aegrotatio. Civitas accommodo amplus tabella acidus. Articulus cerno cognomen colligo vesper vivo.

Before Door

Antea expedita ago trucido vivo quibusdam. Adeptio tardus nihil comparo territo. Vomer ciminatio apto commemoro articulus deludo volup traho cavus.

Saturday at the Linden

The bar is below street level and the stairs down to it are painted black, and every Saturday at eleven the music starts to do that thing it does — not louder, exactly, but lower, settling into the room like a second floor laid over the first.

The Room with the Wrong Key

The hotel had given us the wrong key, and we did not tell the desk. For one entire night we lived inside a room that wasn't ours, in a city neither of us was supposed to be in, and used the wrong towels with a thoroughness that felt, by morning, like a vow.