Velvet And Apollo

Velvet and ApolloThere I lay, wet and quick-breathing from the swim, and she sat next to me, moist and glistening. The world was 19 because I was 19, and the world was 18 because she had said she was 18 though I suspected she was less. Brooklyn's Brighton Beach boiled with teeming proletarian Sunday. About us moved a forest of red-burned legs. Ball-catching children whirred. The whine of mothers sounded, admonishing not to drink while overheated. The air was crowded even with smells: the smells...