Town is full of baby seagulls. They stand in the middle of the roads, looking perplexed, often opening their beaks and soundlessly calling to parents that have now abandoned them. They are big, though not yet white. Their mottled brownness equates their gaucheness. They don’t know what to do.
He got a text and then called. She had fallen out of bed and is in hospital and her husband kept forgetting. It is sad. It shakes one. I am fond of her, and she is his family. She wet herself too. She would’ve been mortified that her son would’ve found her that way.
We both remembered that attic hotel room in Paris. I remember being inside you, he said. It felt lovely.
