She watched this wife of Nawin. She was the type that
would put her nose and glasses up against, in her opinion, the
damnedest of things. When they arrived at the married couple's second
home on the opposite part of the city he was fixing a meal for the
three of them. He was preparing salad, toasting hamburger buns on a
barbeque, and microwaving meatless tofu hamburgers in a culture that
was all his own. As the two women chatted on the balcony Porn tried to
overcome feeling like a face bug caught in a key chain. As they ate,
dusk elongated and then intertwined their shadows before night
approached. Soon the remnant of the day became a violet, a purple, and
a black and she felt like a child first introduced to colors through
crayons. They watched the lit barges on the river and gorgeous glassy
skyscrapers with lit angular tiaras. Strangely enough she felt at
peace with them as if they were more than friends but family and the
words of model or prostitute did not exist. Still it was strange and
uncomfortable because it was so strange.
He dreamed that he was in her mind, that there was adrenalin in
the rebellion, that this adrenalin was the meaning of it all, and that
the meaning of all luminesced from her.
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