Twisters

He put his books on the floor and undressed and lay on top of them. And she saw him and sighed; she’d seen him wallowing in nostalgia before.

It was while in Italy that she first started feeling too old. We have more memories. More past, she said. Italians have more pasta, he said.

The memory of it fell on him like a cartoon anvil. She stood and watched his face lose its color. When he spoke he sounded like an accordion.