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I'd run out of time. How lovely.

I'd learned to travel with a single suitcase. My favorite purse cradled a book of Rilkes's poems, a published collection of my Flash, and a phone number that I might ring when I landed at Heathrow.

I reminded myself it would be wise to describe overflowing glee in my writing journal. I twirled and giggled in the middle of the airport.

A tall man with laughing eyes grinned at me, 'Sometimes you just have to do that.' My body twirled again. 'Liminal space." he suggested, approaching me like a story teller ready to discover a new tale. My body began to dance. His body responded. As I'd looked around everything was dancing.

Story by:

Laurel Kahaner

submitted at 2:24pm

23 July 2010

Laurel Kahaner's web: