The Gift


He had this fantasy to live a life like his parents, happy and complete. There wasn’t much he could do to make him feel this way, but the lives of others usually helped and try as he might he couldn’t and wouldn’t be seen without her. He finished “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” and lit up a cigarette. The book had infuriated him, and he wished he could throw it away. There was a flame kneeling over the horizon and for a moment he almost tried to light his fix with the sun. He stared until his eyes watered and turned to see the light stayed with him. He was wobbly now, so he sat down on the stairs. Surfers Paradise was loud, even disconcerting to tourists, but they faded soon: just another piece of static to him. He thought about Holiday Golightly and the St. Chris Medallion, and he thought of her and the ring. He paid way too much for it, and she hadn’t even liked it. None of them did. She had told him yes, but refused to wear it.

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