Car accident. Life moves on outside my hospital window, without me, I guess.
Raphael framed by a dense carpet of stars, on a beach. Stella parading around the room naked, laughing. The bright orange point of Teddy’s cigarette describing the arcs of his emphatic ranting. The darkness. The inhuman scream of tires on asphalt.
The nurse is padding around the room, checking on this and that; my only evidence of this is the swish of fabric on fabric and the occasional metallic resonance of the equipment. She seems to be talking to me—or to herself? My attention has wandered.
I’m back in my apartment with Stella, a year ago.
She likes it best when I fuck her like a man. A subtle irony I never comment on.
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