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To the left there is a slipway where small fishing boats form a colorful spine down to a concrete jetty and where the great, dreadful froth of the North Sea hits the rocky shoreline. And beyond that the sea. Black and infinite.
His presence is benign but somehow unnerving. The emptiness of him. All the spaces and gaps.
“You must be a good guy,” she says. “Dogs always know.”
It’s something you realize the older you get. Everyone’s a bit strange.”
All the stories, he thinks to himself, the world is full of stories.
“Well, yes, that’s what they say about being in love. It’s a chemical state, isn’t it? Messes with your mind.”
It is like onions. People reveal themselves to you a layer at a time. That is why you should wait. Wait until you get to the layers near the bottom. Usually where the worst stuff is. And then, if the worst stuff is not so bad, then you marry.”
