Excerpt: Scenes from a Loft

There is still the faint odor of mothballs whenever anyone is too close, but that will fade--or seep into the wall and become part of the ambiance. I have yet to light any candles in its proximity. I do not know if mothball fumes are combustible, but I also do not care to find out. If I make history, it will not be for being the first person to die from exploding mothball fumes produced by a secondhand blanket.

*****

I immediately pop away from his shoulder in wonder. "You really want to hear about it?"

"I asked, didn't I?" His face displays confusion as I start to laugh.

"You did, but I was writing a scene earlier and thinking about social conventions and conversation formulas and how people ask questions when they don't really care about the answer and just want to meet some ridiculous invisible social obligation, like the world will end if you don't ask an insincere question about someone's day at work when all you want to know is what's for dinner and what's on television." I pull a face at the ridiculousness of all of it. "Is it really bad if I admit that I forgot for a moment that you aren't one of my characters?"

Dan laughs with me at this. "Lydia, you are one in a million."

"So you're saying there are at least six thousand other people in the world just like me?"