New! Create an annotation  The soft sound of snow crunching
underfoot gives me comfort. Her building is at the end of the
block. She lives on the north side. Bottom floor. Middle
apartment. I see her. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 steps. Wrong key. Lock
clicks. She drops her coat and scarf in the entry and kicks off
those... vixen shoes. She shuffles to the kitchen and pours a
glass of scotch. (I am inside) She lights a cigarette and blows
the smoke over the match. (She doesn't notice)  The gray smog
rises from her lips like a cremation furnace. The simple
elegance of this quiet moment is almost irresistible. (But, I
wait)  She slugs back the scotch, finishes her smoke and ashes
it in the sink. She unties her hair and enters the hallway, past
the childless bedroom with the empty crib, past the altar coated
in wax like a wedding cake, and the tiny packages of meat, dead
flowers, and baby's breath.  She enters the bathroom, where she
undresses. She sits on the edge of the bath. Her naked body
folded in half, heavy tits hanging