Two metal scents filled the hall. One was a burnt ballast - I peaked out the studio door and saw the offending encasement flickering off its last hours. The other was something from the train yard below - it smelled like oil but with a crispness to it.
Post investigation I sat in the studio, alone and a bit afraid.
Fear? Why fear? I thought you were over fear dear boy.
No. I'm traumatized I think.
Birth was your trauma.
Good point. I think.
Are you?
What?
Traumatized.
Yes. So I'd understand why you'd want to leave me.
You do?
Yes, of course. Are you going to then?
What? Leave you?
Yes.
Well it's not that I want that.
But you are going to?
Yes, eventually but everyone must part eventually.
I understand. It's maybe better if I don't say anything then.
That'd probably be good. I mean you are very good looking.
So?
So just look good and be happy, maybe keep that other stuff to yourself.
(nod)(time) Is it too late now then?
Too late for what?
Too late to clam up and just look good.
Yes, I think so. I mean I guess so.
So you will leave then?
Um, yes but not right now. Not at this moment.
What gets out blood?
Is it fresh blood?
Yes. What gets it out?
Cold water and soap will take it out, she said naked and beautiful from half the world away. But do it immediately.
And it did, white fuzzies and all.
Amazing, I say. That's amazing, it just disappears.
She smiled. Like everything.
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