He lookeddown at Art, who looked back. He smiled. Art smiled back. The man carriedon past the tables towards the counter of the shop as Art watched hi... gobefore turning back out through the window. That was the feeling. Artfinally could place his finger on it. Sat here, with his coffee and histighted legs pulled up under his dress, watching the world go by andsmiling at strangers, Art knew how it felt. It felt normal. It was arevelation that should have struck Art like a ton of bricks but. Maybe she was far, far more insightful than I gave her credit for.I slept restlessly, tossing and turning so much Kimber complained. She was bright and energetic in the morning, giving me smiles and a kiss before heading off to class.I moped. I wandered the house at loose ends, the closed door down the hall threatening me; something I feared. Twice I approached it and turned away.Mid afternoon, I sipped scotch - something I never did at that hour - and tried to steel myself.The door was an. More

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