Richard has taken to pacing. Ten long strides across the living room, and ten back again if he takes the route across the deep pile rug; fifteen if he goes around the back of the leather lounge. Sometimes he makes a detour into the kitchen, rounding the island bench. His is not a ponderous gait. He pounds frustration into the floor with every footfall. Although he is wont to clasp his hands together behind his back, trying to imagine he"s smoking a pipe. Now and then he pauses mid stride, bringing a hand to his chin, or pointing at nothing. It"s all affectation but still. He"s even started to grind his teeth.
Making his literary hiatus even worse, his visit to the aljibe at La Corona yesterday proved an arduous trek across acres of lava rubble, and when at last he arrived at the base of t
