Look, you're getting dirt mixed in with your corporeal form. Come on. It's not that bad." Not that bad?" Oneone cried, "What do you know about it? I've been in this godsforsaken land for three summers now. Not one man has pursued me for his sport. I have let them approach close, enticed them with my charms, but as soon as I bolt, they let me go. Or they give half-hearted chase, or they shout for me to come back, offer me clothing or psychiatric help, whatever that is. What has happened to me that I am not worth pursuing anymore? Is it erosion?" No, no," said Chris. Even in such absurd circumstances, the sight of a naked, crying woman did something to Chris that make him feel atavistic, wanting to own and protect her, to keep her away from anything that would make her cry again. He laid his hands on Oneone's shoulders, drawing her into a hug, "You're quite beautiful. Any man in his right mind would want to pursue you. I would pursue you myself, but I had a really long day at work.". But where?” “Does it matter?” A strange voice. I turned, staring at very average man dressed in a rumpled hounds-tooth coat and a mustard yellow tie. “Who are you? “Good question.” “Thanks you.” I said, feeling suddenly pleased with myself. After all, I was obviously in the midst of some sort of mental melt down and yet, I was able to still have a reasonably sedate conversation with a stranger. “You do have a name?” “Do you?” “Yes, I’m…” I caught my breath, my name suddenly a slippery fish on the ice. Every time I tried to grasp it, it eluded me. “You’ll find it doesn’t matter here.” “I…” I found myself speaking with my hands, letting them flutter like anxious birds, my lips shaping words, each as silent as the books that surrounded me, my bare toes digging into the black and white checkerboard carpet. Above me hung a multitude of balloons, all black with white whispers and wide white smiles and white eyes that stared off into the distance. As I watched, they seemed to focus their.
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