Page 74
Chapter 6 - Fashion
Barbara and Michael sat on a bench in the little park, her head against his chest, his arm around her back. They felt each other breathing and were silent. The smell of rain filled the air. The drops began and grew large, dripping down Michael’s glasses, cooling his face, and washing the tears from Barbara’s eyes. They sat through the warm downpour in silence, eyes now closed, heavy drops ringing the metal arms of the bench. Then the drizzle followed, then another down pour, and another drizzle. They felt each other breathing and became grateful that they themselves were breathing, surviving the town, the rain, and the abandonments.
After the rain stopped, Barbara stood up. “All we need to do is tell a taxi driver the name of the hotel,” she said.
“A taxi won’t pick us up this wet.”
“This isn’t New York,” Barbara said.
“Do you really think it’s that easy?” Michael asked. He stood up and wiped the rain drops off his glasses with his shirt tail.
“Well, it can’t be all that hard, I mean, just to get back to the hotel.”
“No, presumably not,” he said. “But if all we had to do is take a taxi, why did we go in that subway? Why were we chasing that odd fellow? What we were we doing?”
“It’s like we’d gone to hell without dying,” Barbara said. “Those gypsy girls were down there.”
“We are letting everything effect us, Barbara. We’re exhibiting mass hysteria and there are only two of us.”