Nobody's Interesting Life

           A DAY BEFORE MY FLIGHT, I took a taxi to the post office with a couple of boxes to ship to Calvin’s place in Hong Kong. One box contained a multitude of books I felt I had to keep and the other a few pots and pans, some utensils, some clothes, and various other household items I didn’t wish to pack into a suitcase. I had given away or tossed approximately three-quarters of my possessions. A few I was still thinking about, but mostly I felt liberated. Anything I needed could be purchased where I was going anyway.             The price of shipping turned out to be fairly expensive. I decided to lighten the weight by pulling out some books. The cashier gave me a plastic bag. I thanked her in French. I was nearly out the door when I remembered I had something else to mail. I returned to the cashier and handed her the envelope with my letter to Madeleine inside. “C’es...

Brigitte left for Hong Kong. I watched her walk through security at the airport and then waited until her plane took off to be sure I didn't squander any opportunity to be with her for even a minute longer. I had already begun to arrange things so I could join her in a little more than eight weeks. A pair of my closest friends lived in the city. I knew I could rely on them for a place to stay until I got myself situated. Calvin Ng was a half-French, half-Chinese photographer with multiple tattoos including the symbol for infinity behind his left ear, and a full sleeve on his left arm with an hour glass connected at the elbow as the centrepiece. The sand was almost completely in the forearm section which, ever since he had it done, served as the topic for countless philosophical and psychoanalytical debates both real and as conversation starters with women. His hair changed colors more often than the seasons and the piercings on his body seemed to multiply every time I came for...

My eyes opened at 7:00 AM the next morning. I dialed the front desk and requested a late checkout. A woman asked me to hold. I heard her typing as I waited. She spoke again and told me I could checkout at 1:00 PM. I hung up the phone and checked on Brigitte. She was sleeping guiltlessly. I closed my eyes and promptly returned to the land of dreams. At ten o'clock I woke again and this time felt awake. I hopped out of bed and drew the curtains to let sunlight flood the room. Brigitte stirred and opened her eyes. She asked me what time it was. I told her. "Put some clothes on," she chided me. "I'm going to shower first," I responded. She slinked out of bed and joined me at the entrance to the balcony. She was most beautiful to me like this. No makeup, no inhibition. Her skin taught around her chest and buttocks and a manicured line of pubic hair between her legs. But something nagged at me from the night before. Knowledge. Gained knowledge and lack of k...

"IS IT TOO MUCH?" BRIGITTE ASKED. She modelled a pink strapless dress cut high above the knee. "I don't think so," I told her. "What are you going to buy?" "Something so I don't look like a bum next to you." "It's too much." "No. You have to buy it." "Really?" "Now that I've seen you in it, absolutely." "I'll have to get shoes too." "Shit, me too." I tried to pay for the dress, but Brigitte wasn't having it. I'd already snuck onto Expedia and booked a room at the Hotel Victoria, so I decided to surrender this battle. We shopped for another hour. I bought a light blue Yves Saint Laurent button up shirt, slim Ted Baker Khaki pants, and blue espadrilles. Brigitte bought a pair of white high heel sandals to go with her dress, the straps wrapping around her calves like a roman soldier. We walked about town for a little while, admiring the Lambor...