David Accampo | January 24, 2009
By David Accampo Marc and Annette lie on the bed, staring up at the tiny white topographical map of ceiling above the bed. A single sheet stretches between them, covering the odd angles of their naked bodies. “I don’t know how you can say I’m being selfish,” says Annette. “Bullshit.”
David Accampo | January 24, 2009
When there is nothing left between two people, the physics of the room appear to change. A stillness overcomes the space between them, lazy dust motes trapped in a shaft of light. There is movement, of course — the nervous fidget of fingers, the swaying of legs, the tilt of the head to a slightly sharper angle. A yawn. But these movements become infinitesimal in the void between the occupants of the room.