She calls me, and we make small talk. Finally she asks: What are you doing? I’m reading a book, I tell her. And then she says, You’re weird.

The sommelier brought the wine to the table and took a sniff. It’s corked, he said, angrily. It’s what I deserve, I said, offering my glass.

I drop my backpack, and fall on top of it. I don’t know what to do, I admit. She takes out the map, again, because she knows it will bug me.

He was a homely child who grew into a handsome man and held a noble job, who always wore leather chaps, and preferred his cakes under baked.