Aletheia Seen as a map, the social geography of the tiny town is a number puzzle on which a restricted range of elements change places, where subtractions and disappearances are part of the natural order of things but additions and arrivals are gratuitous, so each subject to a flurry of messages.
The commercial geography is a narrow strip and a sequence of identical restaurants each of which serves the same food as every other. At either end of the sequence are clusters of antique shops, it’s temporal boundaries, each a collage past subject to its own arrangements and rearrangements.
Levels of geography mirror each other.
She has jet black hair and eyes. Her earrings are showers of exploded silver over a crucifix that dances from a chain over the soft terrain of her breasts and the continuous play of revealing and concealing. At every bar people lose themselves in contemplation of her peerless globes.
