I like that I don’t know who Devon is. A party guest? An employee? A brother to “she”? A husband to “she”? Hell, they could both be dogs, him Tramp, her Lady.

So many possibilities. You write the scene vividly too.

You are wonderful. Who are you? I must know! Doc, you’ve done it again. It’s stories like this that make me wonder if you just come here to take pity on us. :)

Have to know what happens next.

I really like this. It’s resigned, and irreverent, and weirdly hilarious for reasons that I can’t quite put my finger on. Silly monkey.

The scene of a turning point. Will she even remember what she witnesses in the morning? I don’t think Devon will jump. He might fall.. Will she care? Why is she watching him? This is full of possibilities.

The struggle is this piece is quite vivid but I focused most on the “tumbling rush of sweetness”. I wondered what this girl is doing at the party. Is she just another partygoer, breath soaked in the smell of sweet wine? A relative stranger whose presence is only silent because of her lack of connection to Devon. Or have they connected sometime before and this she knows more about Devon than we ever will? Really beautifully done.

A sullen outsider contemplating the dichotomy of a wild and domesticated world— projecting/ reflecting his mentality + physiology + stature in a universe of blurring lines and mixed emotion. Much food for thought. I like this guy :)