Falling Caryatid

Robert Quick

Where the -@!# did my muse go?

Writer, dreamer, knight, shackled by entertainment . . . and people.


“Is this a day time or a night time thing?” I asked.

“Nights exclusively which is why I can go. Ralph and Grandma Jean stay in and watch the baby.”

“They don't come with you? Wait a minute, what baby?”

“My sister's kid.”

“Jesus, there's a fourth person under your roof?”

“Joval, my sister and her husband were in that train crash last week. We had to accept the baby. It was only right. Besides Grandma Jean loves having her and it's better to hear her cooing at the baby than complaining about my cooking.”

I almost see her spirit buckling under the weight of carrying so many people like a living Rodin statue. “You work here. Your cooking is fine or you would have been out of a job a long time ago.”

“I'm half-way decent. The stuff I make isn't Cordon bleu or anything but it's also not food she grew up with so she hates it. She comes from the old world. Lots of cabbage and potatoes and sausages.” Teeny made a face. "I can do it but I don't like it much. Truth be told, Ralph doesn't like it much either."


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My face must have said more than my silence because she added quickly, “It's not a church or anythin…

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