Johannes Punkt’s Flaskpost

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Tag: marriage

Gasoline, Lacquer, Matches

The smell of the old lacquer on the door was coming back, as the newer, whiter, paint was peeling off. The smell of gasoline and lacquer was every time he had come home through that door and hung his coat on the rack. All the different trenchcoats that he’d worn through the years, and changed maybe once per decade, flickered before her eyes. The new, red, colour of the house was every time he had fucked, raped, or made love to her. It was mostly good memories, she admitted to herself, but in some cases any memory is too much.


Orwell and Julia’s relationship had an overture at a Christmas party two years before they actually, truly, met.

Orwell and Julia’s relationship was a classical opera in three parts. Their marriage was a slow movement, their wedding and divorce both lightning fast.

Orwell and Julia did not know they had met before the night they met again, something Orwell was embarrassed over and Julia was traumatized by. They had both been too intoxicated to remember exactly.

It was obvious, how it would go. The friend who introduced them to one another said they had chemistry. What they had was music.