I gathered my beach towel and book to go up to her sixth floor apartment. I looked up to see her lean over the railing and throw my canvas suitcase over the edge.
She is long lost in a black oblivion by now. Three years and seven months lost, as of today. And yet I can’t get her out of my mind.
Relationships in the seventies were like rugby scrimmages. We were all players and many players got muddied and some got bloodied.