Eden hates this class. Captive to the minutiae of cinema studies, she follows the methodic clicks of the lecture. Each slide comes thick and fast.
Her heart is heavy. Her eyes are vacant. She is no stranger to this campus and the errands of tutelage. Undergrads colour the autumn groundsā¦
Forsan et haec olim meminisse iuvabit. Maybe weāll be laughing about even these things in the futureā¦
The slogan should spur Eden to build a brave new world, brick by brick, but it doesnāt. People are hopeless. They endow magnates and bankrupt those who pay it forward. Those who areā¦
No one likes Eden.
Sheās always known it.
She knows more when she eyes the labourers along the wharf.
The breeze carries a lick of saltwater over the pier. Shelled wood planks cleave to a sandy dock that was once a rainbow of varnished hues. Most know itās seen betterā¦
When Eden was eighteen, her uncle told her countless tales of life in the desert. He lived there for many years. Perfect, he said, because the people there had inhibitions. People in the rest of the world never think twice to share. To think everything, every place, everyone can beā¦
Zara hates mornings. All the same, she figures she should be grateful for them. Itās impossible to know what you love if you donāt know what you hate.
And, Zara loves the night. Thatās when time trickles onward into lurid numerals, and the city comes alive with luminous panes andā¦
Lola has wide hips, legs overshadowed by voluminous thighs; and a heart ribbed within a cage affixed to a column that snakes to her posterior. Every crook and crevice is alight with a flare as high as noon: incisive and wakeful by day as the moon keeps her secrets.
Lolaā¦
