Play It as It Lays

by Joan Didion

(she did not know what it was she feared, but it had to do with empty sardine cans in the sink, vermouth bottles in the wastebaskets, slovenliness past the point of return)

“I don’t know if you noticed, I’m mentally ill,”

All that day Maria thought of fetuses in the East River, translucent as jellyfish, floating past the big sewage outfalls with the orange peels.

Maria did not want to think about the Guatemalan who had taken her diaphragm.

“Tell me what matters,” BZ said. “Nothing,” Maria said.