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My hips hurt from standing but otherwise I finished anotherpicture. I tried sitting to paint but that didn't cut it, so I amnow standing in order to paint. "I think I can solve your problem but you have to trust me. Ihave been thinking about you all day and I think I know what youneed." "Right now I'll try anything that might help." She had him follow her to the bedroom. There she had him stripto his jockey shorts. Then she glued some breast forms on hischest. He wondered about them but didn't say anything. Then shehelped him get into a rather plain blue shift that zipped up thefront. She went into the closet and came out with one shoe, a black twoand a half inch heel pump, and helped him get it on his good foot.He never thought about the fact that there was a difference intheir shoe size. He stood up and moved on his crutches. "This does feel better,but why the breast forms?" "They make the dress fit better, so you don't have that dead areain front." He accepted that and. ’ Yes I was a writer. I didn’t write novels. mostly essays, poems, and a few well received short stories. Over the years I had honed my craft, publishing first in the university magazine, then a few regional pieces. The local newspaper used a few of my essays, and a chain picked them up and I became syndicated. Ten years ago I reached an agreement with The New Yorker magazine, and did an essay for them every three months. They used a few of my poems, and one of my short stories. Three years ago the university press wanted to put out a compilation of my work. I didn’t think it was worth the effort. The university president talked me into it, saying if it was successful it would make a good recruiting tool. The editor was a genius. He waded through twenty odd years of junk and came up with twenty one poems, twenty nine essays, and three short stories. If I had been making an album, it would have been a ‘best of’ type thing. The only new piece in the book was the poem she had quoted. Amy.
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