The Riveter

He said nothing, and didn’t pull a pack from his pants pocket the way she’d hoped. Instead, he just stared at her, in that ravenous way of theirs, a way she’d seen up close only once before.
Breaking the painful silence, she snapped open the purse again and pulls a little cigarette and lighter from some secret compartment, and lit it herself with a knowing, blase click. As she inhaled, she considered that his exhaustion and despair left him vulnerable in a way she was not entirely prepared for.

Astrid v. Mildred

You should be there. Naturally? I should be there, too. Making something, some salad dressing in a bowl. Easy, but requiring attentiveness, ratios, science, purpose. The fork would scrape in the wooden bowl as I emulsify the oil. It’d be near suppertime, but before that scramble to get everything set on the table. You’d be reading, still, in another world but contented to have your body in this one, unbothered.