Words from a novel long in progress

When I open my eyes she's at the edge of my bed, a bowl in her hands, and a spoon.

"You didn't eat," she says.

"I'm not hungry."

"Sit up."

Outside my window, in a puddle of moon, the gypsies are singing some song. "Gazpacho," Stella tells me, fixing the pillow behind me and fitting the bowl in my lap until she turns, too, to watch Arcadio in the love seat, his guitar on his knee, his fingers running hard against the strings. Angelita pulls at her dress like it's an animal she can't trust; she w...