Schmalix

Our evening stroll is over. Some joggers pass us by, distant dogs rip silence into shreds. Her hand in mine, smears of lipstick gluing my cuts together, we have circled back to the bench where we sit down, worn into flatness by the walk. The lunar eclipse eclipsed by the clouds, now there isn't much new up there to look for. 'Once I broke my leg but it never occurred to me to carve the plaster,' I say. She says nothing. 'I have an idea for a story,' I continue. 'Listen to this.' She listens. 'Boy meets girl…' 'And?' 'That's it.' 'It's not a very good plot,' she says. 'But there's a twist,' I say. 'What is it?' 'I don't write i