“So,” Logan asks. “Seeing anyone?”
My heartbeat thumps a little too quickly.
My tongue silently tastes Trent’s name. There’s a brief, dizzy tilt and jolt, like stepping off a kerb you didn’t see.
I drop my hand from the postcards. “I’m not free, if that’s what you’re fishing at.”
Logan laughs and drives a hand through his hair. “Suppose we didn’t work the first time. A second seems desperate. You’re right. Let’s stick with friendly peers.”
He pulls over at my accommodation. I duck back in the window.
“Friendly peer who gives me lifts to the set?”
“You’re on my way. Seven sharp.”
Every morning, he drives me in. Every night, I drive a pen across a postcard.
doldrums
Windless, stagnant part of the ocean. A pause.
Grandpa,
Greetings from Palmerston North,
Where the wind only takes your hat, not half your soul, like Welly.
How’s the chicken?
The daycare oldies?
Thinking of you cheating at cards.
Love, Ika
Grandpa,
The Palmie clock tower’s still standing tall.
Unlike my dignity after tripping over my own feet into a crowd of judgy ducks.
Love, Ika.
Grandpa,
Shit it’s cold. Jumper time.
Keep warm.
Love, Ika.
Grandpa,
Missing you.
Love, Me.
giant koura (crayfish)
