Time Between
stefano cipriani
Let’s start with a window. A window with some gingham curtains like you’d see in a farmhouse where somebody’s kindly grandmother lived. Red-checked gingham curtains in an open window and the breeze billowing them out like the sail of an Egyptian felucca plying the waters off…. No.
A window. A city window. With a fire-escape just outside. The sound of traffic below caroming off the nearby buildings. Light shining in. Harsh light. Strong light. Light so bright that if you held up your hand you could see the blood shining red through the web of your thumb and forefinger. And the dark silhouette of a chair. A massive leather chair. An imposing, magisterial chair so large it could hold…. No.
A city window. A filigree of fire-escape just outside. Morning sunlight slanting down, filtered through Venetian blinds. Sunlight illuminating the red fabric stretched on metal-framed chairs like the webbing between thumb and forefinger. Yes. Yes, let’s start there. Let’s start there and see where it takes us.
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