...a deathly serenade...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
argue more and Leila, still upstairs, was a spirited
relief, in hindsight. Though she still hadn’t
written a word of Love & War, as she felt Vanity.
Key had asked her more questions than she could
answer, she said in the coffee shop that had
become a refuge. I told her that I could explain
what I’d intended in the conceptual workings of
Vanity. Key, and tried to; telling her that it was
story that delved into some of the concepts
touched upon in her own work, Elysium, with
even my own poem in the novel version. She
nodded her head and said that she needed time,
but that she was still slightly consumed by the
problems with her literary estate, but was happy
that The Administrator was helping her at the
time. But I think I will go to Paris for a few weeks;
visit my cousin, said Leila in the stream of
conscious way she spoke, romantically staring out
of the window and then standing up to depart
with an abrupt goodbye, as usual. A Saturday, I
remember walking to The Professor’s apartment;
Olga opening the door. She said The Professor
was in the kitchen drinking coffee in a mood, in
broken English. I wondered why, and thought it
probably involved Yashu, whom I had heard from
Leila was becoming more and more erratic and
drunk on more V.I.P wine. But I soon found out
from The Professor that his wife in Bedfordshire
had decided that she would move to the Islington
apartment to be closer to Yashu, particularly as he
had not been answering his phone for the
previous few weeks. I was still indignant from the
50