He has children her age,  she's married to a nice guy, and they both move prominently in the business community, but he doesn't care - because she is enchanting.  She's restless and bored, tired of this difficult little city, but she doesn't care - because he is thoughtful and earnest. 

So the winds have blown them here, eager to escape the doldrums of mid-life.

Lunch arrives as art on a plate; at the half-point he orders a second bottle of wine and then, while she does the…

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He notices the diagonal line of red fleur de sel that runs across the butter as she swipes through it and onto her bread plate, then she meets his eyes and smiles as she passes it back to him, chirping "thank you."  She has already ordered a vermouth-y martini, asked for a rare steak and wrinkled her nose at his wife's book club selection.  "If you want to read something really debauched, read Justine," she says before taking a sip, following his blank look with, "by Sade. . . the…

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The boss's house sits mountain-top, high among the clouds, kind of Greek-myth-like, and it takes forever to drive cross-city and up-hill to get there, 40 minutes of vapid pop radio and traffic reports in the encroaching dusk. Arrival at sunset, and from the enormous picture window in the living room the entire city unfolds far below, sparkling in the cold and growing ever more glittery as the darkness deepens. The fireplace is big enough to roast a man whole and the guest bath looks as though… Continue

It was trash day on that rural stretch of highway, for at every intersection of a county road bags were piled high. The sun hung low in the mid-morning sky, casting long shadows over those ziggurats of trash and every couple of miles or so a stray dog or gaggle of ravens was shoulder deep in Hefty and Glad. The tall-snow capped mountains fell away in the rear view and ahead lay nothing but stone plateaus and endless blue sky.



She drove past a long-forgotten billboard that read simply… Continue

Watch the moon rise over the tarmac, feeling very alone. Yawn and blink into the sunrise through smoked glass, coffee and diesel a heavy morning perfume.

Queue, shuffle; hurry, now. . . wait.

Faces and conversations are a swirling blur but location is a three letter code. Consider the daydreams carried through this place.

In the rush of being place-less yet always moving towards, origins are forgotten and only destinations matter.