cool girl.

❛   lonely  ?   ❜   lights, camera, action  — if you like me, take me home.

and soon — THE BLONDE WILL BE GONE. technically dead. that is why i have now entered the third chapter of my new story: ''make fake friends. let the neighbours know you.''   ]

❛   i do hope i'm not bothering you !   ❜    tone of voice too high. now laugh, laugh and throw your head around so your hair looks like butter-coloured garlands.   ❛    you must be my new missouri neighbour. i'm amy dunne.   ❜   slender-fingered hand extended firmly. she hasn't decided yet which face would be preferable enough for her new friend.

when i think of my wife, i always think of her head. the shape of it, to begin with. the very first time i saw her, it was the back of the head i saw, and there was something lovely about it, the angles of it. like a shiny, hard corn kernel or a riverbed fossil. she had what the victorians would call a finely shaped head. you could imagine the skull quite easily. i’d know her head anywhere. and what’s inside it. i think of that, too: her mind. her brain, all those coils, and her thoughts shuttling through those coils like fast, frantic centipedes. like a child, i picture opening her skull, unspooling her brain and sifting through it, trying to catch and pin down her thoughts.