The last time Alexei paid for sex, he was eighteen years old. How's that for a beginning, a secret, the truth?
And so I read a book I'd been meaning to get to: One Hundred Years of Solitude. Why did I fall in love with this magical, seemingly endless tale of Macondo while living and working in the tidy and picturesque French countryside?
In one of my lives, I'm a writer. This means, essentially, that I contemplate the human experience while wearing my pajamas. Fortunately, there's another me, and she gets out more.
Copyright © 2012 Deborah Willis