Sunday, September 9, 2007

The Idealist

The lake drained to mud, the oars and barrels and cracked dinnerware drunken among the new weeds. If there's quicksand, she said, would you pull me out? He shook his head. I'd go down too. And then which of us would bear our future children? She laughed, already up to her knees.


Laura said...

Very nice, J-J.

Joseph Young said...

Thanks, L! I realize now I unintentionally partially plagiarized your recent title.