He woke the afternoon after the crash in the villa at the farmhouse estate. In the bedroom with the plate-glass windows looking out at the pool, and the skylights above like the eyes of a corpse staring up at the sun. The sun was strong. Hot glass on sun. Cold, empty air. Tangled in the white duvet. The creamy sheets soaked with sweat. A perfect late winter’s day. Remember it. Turn your head to look outside. Bare trees. Leaves falling into the pool. Remember it. Clouds pass quickly through the blue and cover the sun. Brightness muted, heat scattered, hiding. The damp sheets remember it. His
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