He shakes his head. 'Unclear whether he's dismissing her defense or dashing away at least a half dozen of his own. The brown bottle is lonely and so he shares some of it with his own glass.
"I know."
And he does. He gets what she's saying, even if she's not saying it. Six months ago he would have called that kind of insight "writer's intuition," but he knows now that he's moved past the pages of a novel and into a territory that can't be captured, culled or kept within the margins of a word processing program.
"When's the first time you got drunk?" he asks, apropos of nothing except a spinning golden-tinged glass and his own memories. "I think I was fifteen. 'Mother was rehearsing for The King & I and I snuck into the King of Siam's liquor cabinet. 'Spent the whole night doing cartwheels across the stage until I threw up in Tuptim's shoes." He offers a half smirk. "Not exactly my finest moment."
no subject
"I know."
And he does. He gets what she's saying, even if she's not saying it. Six months ago he would have called that kind of insight "writer's intuition," but he knows now that he's moved past the pages of a novel and into a territory that can't be captured, culled or kept within the margins of a word processing program.
"When's the first time you got drunk?" he asks, apropos of nothing except a spinning golden-tinged glass and his own memories. "I think I was fifteen. 'Mother was rehearsing for The King & I and I snuck into the King of Siam's liquor cabinet. 'Spent the whole night doing cartwheels across the stage until I threw up in Tuptim's shoes." He offers a half smirk. "Not exactly my finest moment."