But there is no Theory of Relative Relativity. Where were you, Albert, when Stella stood at the edge of that black gulf, screaming herself hoarse and in love with the sound, when she blinked, gasped and made the conscious choice to turn back, neighbors knocking at the door, Frank telling them, "its all right, everything is OK" and then "Shit, Stell snap out of it. Shut up." Boarding house with the meal trays brought around to the teachers and by the time the food reached the top floor the ice cream, always vanilla, was melted to soup from the steam rising, to this day, thirty years later, she cannot eat vanilla ice cream.
Somewhere on some wide yellow beach a golden man with sandy hair, walter is telling the waves to come in, to go out, he orders the tides and at night he sleeps for only seconds at a time, it is a great responsibility, watching the waves.
Scott, big boned and red-bearded, the bull in the field with black shining eyes, whiskey drinker,
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