Summer 1988 • Vol. X No. 3 FictionJuly 1, 1988 |

Normal Experience

I That instant Ross knew he'd have to divorce Charlotte. A cold camera eye clicked in him. On the beach. Scorching. The three around the blanket. They were tanned as foreign looking as the local Greeks. Charlotte was on her haunches, sleek in her black one-piece, her long legs doubled under her, wind making her dark hair a long swagger. Against the sky, she looked—to him, lying on his back—as monumental as the monolithic boulders on the Sound shore. Charlotte cut the pie. The knife came out blackberry purple. "You, Spears?" Spears said no. So did he. "And I've cut three pieces! Well." She neatly scooped her sliver up and bit the tip, but after a minute's hiatus, she as abruptly set the piece back in the tin—"What am I doing on such a day!"—and thrust herself straight up, her hair flaring a black flame, then turned and ran. Not Charlotte, no, but Spears had alerted him—because Ross had caught Spears' eye on (he thought) the knife. Though he and Spears almost never ta

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Howard an Monroe

By Robert Hiles

I That instant Ross knew he'd have to divorce Charlotte. A cold camera eye clicked in him. On the beach. Scorching. The three around the blanket. They were tanned as […]

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