R. O. Mayer

Tweeting a novel currently called THE ARCHANGEL IS DOWN ON WAZEE STREET

[R. O. Mayer @romayer]

"Perhaps, dear Andreas," the dialogue rose from the page, and Malcolm read on:

[R. O. Mayer @romayer]

Its thick paper was pleasantly rough and beige and reassuringly dry to the touch.

[R. O. Mayer @romayer]

Opened again, the book smelled of its time on the shelves, more than twice the years Malcolm had behind him.

[R. O. Mayer @romayer]

He could, of course, see himself in the boulevard world of that novel, where words still mattered and insouciance had not yet grown obscene.

[R. O. Mayer @romayer]

He opened the old-board binding flat upon the table and thumbed his way to the last page he remembered reading, a third of the way in.

[R. O. Mayer @romayer]

This sort of forbearance was, he knew, his only hope. Without it every man is lost.

[R. O. Mayer @romayer]

Malcolm closed his eyes so as not to watch her recede and then turned chastely to the book beneath his hand

[R. O. Mayer @romayer]

“Sock-eye,” she answered when he asked her what kind, holding her at the table a moment while she tucked the menu away again.

[R. O. Mayer @romayer]

After a moment with the syntagm and paradigm of the menu, he caught her eye and ordered the salmon.

[R. O. Mayer @romayer]

Malcolm allowed himself a shallow sigh inside the Oxford bar, where the vibrations had faded and the waitress was new to him.

[R. O. Mayer @romayer]

The young woman laughed beautifully once before grabbing the man’s arm and pulling him to her left breast, shrugging.

[R. O. Mayer @romayer]

Outside, the traffic light changed, the low car pulled away, and a young professional couple passed by.

[R. O. Mayer @romayer]

Malcolm twisted the smaller, weighted glass in a stationary circle, clockwise a little and then back; it was a good glass for bourbon.

[R. O. Mayer @romayer]

He pondered how the visible waving of the glass must have replicated the pitch and yaw of the music, if that’s what it was.

[R. O. Mayer @romayer]

He wondered at that, whether the slow sound-wave pulse became a sea of particles as it vibrated the window.

[R. O. Mayer @romayer]

But the bass line pulsed the envelope of air, and Malcolm could feel it passing through the wide window.

[R. O. Mayer @romayer]

The words from the rider’s stereo were unintelligible, probably more so inside the car than here in the hotel restaurant.

[R. O. Mayer @romayer]

Malcolm did, too, in a way.

[R. O. Mayer @romayer]

But in this light he was probably admiring the long lines of the ancient factory car he’d made his own.

[R. O. Mayer @romayer]

He might have been looking at Malcolm, were it darker.