If I sound optimistic, it’s because I’ve yielded to the sybaritic thrall of false confidence.
Berry always seemed to be touching herself, and it made her appear suggestive and sybaritic. But it wasn’t for show, it wasn’t a display.
Underneath the letters there was a picture of two curved and interlocking pills in a pink, luminous chiaroscuro that glowed in virtual three dimensions in the spotlights.
Alternately fey, manic, or malicious, for many he was an enchanting, exasperating creature who seemed to take boundless delight in being alive.
In ink of a different color, on this same card, I instruct myself, with a certain officiousness, to include this thought with my other thoughts about writing about him.
