Lucy, remember the smell of that fall. The fires of fungus and the rotting leaves. I fell off the wagon into your arms. Into this long month of Sundays.
I wake at dusk to go alone. Without a light to the unknown. I want this night inside of me. I want to feel, I want this speeding. I want that speeding.
She kisses him on Bermondsey Street. And rises high on the balls of her feet. Declares this the greatest love. Of the century. . He fumbles for a wedding ring.