Full moon rises outside the window. Voices swim at their feet in a deep hushed tone. The door creaks open and a woman’s heels click on wood in precise timing with the second hand making its rounds again on a huge wall clock. The woman wears a long silk black dress, no nylons. She squats, expressionless, in the room’s center. She reaches down under her dress and pulls out a wailing wet red newborn. Everyone huddles around for a moment to give her a jolly golf applause.
a sharp bark of laughter jumps out from somewhere near a group standing close to the bar.
“and she left the afterbirth right there on the floor”
“She says she wants to be the one to bring the appetizers every year but there’s never enough for leftovers”
“tsk.”
“disgraceful...”
