Only two left now includes the lady with hair tied so that it pulls her face taut and who makes proprietorial comments about him.
You know she says addressing the subject, you only drink since you are under pressure.
The subject has shrugged off one by one his clothes and now has the baleen look of a former athlete.
His sympathetic mate takes one last filched beer away in the dark then she follows as he advances steadily toward catalepsy in movements till only myself the stranger is left.
Sit down he says to me.
He tells of swimming race across the heads he won for his father who could not walk and also of the woman whose life he saved.
I am thinking his stories are like the touching up of paintings on a psyche.
He tells of the award and says to me big head still as bronze I don’t like your words just listen.
I had not spoken but he was right, words were thoughts yes, I was trying to figure was there any gesture I could make to try to help him.