The wall tops out a metre above his fingertips, less than a metre. He needs to make one more move, where are the holds? What can he use? ‘I can do ...his…’ A pocket out to the left looks promising but it’s shallow and muddy, he tries it, takes his hand away. ‘What can I use?…’ Suddenly he’s aware he’s falling. Tumbling and bouncing down the face. He has no idea how it happened. ************** ‘I can’t do this…’ A house. A staircase. Halfway down the stairs a man sits hugging his knees. A song. Her imagination had refused to be reigned in and persisted in trying to draw her attention to a short film it was showing, over and over, of Chelsea smiling at David and saying, “Excuse me a moment,” then sliding off her chair …crawling under the table…seizing the tab of his zipper in her teeth…She’d suddenly realized that David had asked her a question and torn her attention away from the film, trying to slam and lock the door to the projection booth behind her. For the rest of that first. More

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