Chapter 8: His Kiss
Flight 308 and lost in a dream…
I vomit in the toilet at twenty minutes after nine the next morning, feel the porcelain bathroom spin around and around and around, decide to take two aspirins, and slip back into bed…sleep…dream.
When I wake from a dream and look down at my feet in hopes to see Marcos there, he isn’t, which is hardly a surprise.
I shower, dress in shorts, no shirt, no bootie socks, and find myself in the small study where I decide to write, or at least try to write, or fake writing. Here, I decide that a cup of coffee is in order.
Once at the kitchen sink and hovering over a fresh cup of coffee from my Kreuig I hear a hammer pounding, a table saw cutting boards, a sander, and other carpentry tools. I try to ignore the head-pounding noise by studying
