April 29th, 2003 - 3:05 a.m.

The story of Gabriele E.

A pleasant face, of the seemingly perpetual contented sort. Placid doll smile characteristic of the ivory face. And just beginning to unlearn the classic methods of drowning. Damsel in distress was never the style, and in the formative years, it wore badly.

Gorgeously in love with a stranger, never seen nor heard of.

Curls of smoke danced past the lips in noir film method: caught in still air. Index finger sliding across thin paper, the ridges under the surface like the morse code of nervous skin.

The coolness of the floor sapid to toe tips, skating the feet in absentminded circles in pattern of antiquated models of electron orbit.

The compressed heat of too bright day had begun to slip off the horizon, and a night breeze started to climb over the windowsill, down wall and across floor with ease of snake and fluidity of spilling glass in slow motion stills.

The glass was picked up for a sip of water, and in it sat a reflection. The match was found, at last. Triumph.

N.

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