“The Retreat Circa 1970 Always the bedroom is dark. Oh, there are windows, two, onto a canyon echoing neighbors’ sorrows and appliances. The crash of a bottle. A husband and wife tearing at each other. Children disemboweling a cat. The pelvic throb of mating cries, falsetto yowls over electric guitars reverberating like a permanent hangover. Noises pulse from other boxes. Afternoon. Heat packed like grime into the sockets of her body, she lies prone. Let out early today because the air condition...ing broke in the false moon of fluorescence and files, she came home and did not pause at the refuge of coffee shop where students sit in swirls of talk and where she sometimes sits pretending she is a student still. If you are a student people talk with you, they ask questions. If you are a working wife they look through you. She came home to clean the apartment thoroughly. Today she would set everything right. She entered the dark, the summer sun fading into her skin. Their rooms felt packed with stale breath.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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