“Nope.”
“Why?”
“He admires the delicate feelings of men who have fainting couches in case a woman is lusty.”
“Mommy is lusty, isn’t she?”
“You bet she is.”
“What if I came back in my next life as a camera, Dad?”
“A camera?”
“Then I could always be with Mommy.”
Noche de los Perros, Night of the Dogs, as the local paper called the hurricane onslaught. And well, oddly, night dogs do pass.
So time passed on the Atlantic island in a circular way, a non-chronological way, shops had calendars from some year some month, time was a tchotchke, their bodies reset by sun-up and sundown. They say that on the Big Canary you live in eternal spring. Yet the trade winds will have their way, the weird wintertime confluence of warm Gulf currents will cross-hatch with cold Atlantic waters and super
