The Arbitrator
May, 1969
When the Arbitrator was in America, he usually slept with her, his lips against her open mouth. When he awoke, he would have a faint taste of solvent on the tip of his tongue, a slight scent of oil in his sinuses. The taste and the scent would stay with him until the third sip of his morning coffee.But this morning, because he was in Paris, where things weren't tight, because he'd taken a sleeping pill before retiring, he awoke without her. He lay perfectly still, keeping his eyes closed for ten...
