Instead, our eyes would adjust to see through every tangible memory we had ever held in our hands.We communicated best physically through silent excha...ges and unspoken pleas, mapped entirely with other senses for there are ceaseless subtleties to be recognised if one truly pays attention. I remember the sounds of your hands running up and down my back, and the slip of material beneath them, shortly followed by the sound of pants unzipping and clothes flying as we raced to unravel one another. . “Ah! What a treat!” lied the older woman with every indication of unfeigned pleasure as she sat down. “How is your mother?”“She’s a cranky bitch,” said Lisa. “She’s unhappy I’m still unemployed and husbandless. She thinks I should find someone to support me or work.”“Mm,” was Tracy’s uncommittal answer, taking a sip of her coffee. Her sister was right, of course, but saying anything like that to Lisa would be striking matches at a petrol station. The explosion wasn’t worth it.“How is your. More

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