There's A Hole In The Sky

With a deft swing of his hand, he locates the stool, picks it up, goes back to the bed, reseats himself, and continues massaging her. Turning over, she resumes life lived through her phone. The room is quiet, somehow; and very clean, with out being unwelcoming. It is perched to perfectly view the duck oven where ducks go to die and the busy path, with its vegetable stalls and hair salons. For sighted visitors,everything outside is obscured by curtains. Not only sound but light, too, is muffled here.

The masseur is muscular, in a slim way, with arms that taper to an outgrowth of hands, the envy of the incredible hulk.

The attendant works as hard as anyone; I watch as she deposits the glasses, used for cupping,  on a steel trolley by the stools.

I have mortal enemies and one among them is death. 

It’s a nice day, today.