diary / by Edward Mullany


Then the rain stopped, so we finished our coffee and paid the bill and got ready to leave the diner we’d entered an hour or so earlier, when the downpour had begun, all of a sudden, so that we hadn’t had much time to escape it, and had fled into the establishment in which we now were, where we’d removed the clothing that had been topmost on our persons, and had hung it on a coatrack near the door, so it might dry, before we’d been led to a booth, where, seated across from each other, we’d continued the conversation we’d been having, and that we’d had to interrupt, or that we’d chosen to interrupt, for it’s true we could’ve remained outside, in the street, and let ourselves be drenched while we’d went on talking.