Ometa

Takes less than 90 seconds to string up the body. They try not to look at the face, the clean red line bisecting the forehead — it’s only scaffolding, this body. The continuity still runs. They clip carabiners into the wrist and ankle ties and maneuver the body until it’s spread-eagle against the bridge’s red pylon, an ecstatic X to the sea.…

no, she messages back.  We’ll be there in three minutes. Get up. no find someone else Zao sits up on the couch. Still in her clothes from last night, so that saves some time. It’s 7:19AM. She’s slept for four hours, might still be drunk. That plumber. That stupid fucking gymnast. She splashes cold water on her face, brushes her…