THE LAWN

One of, well maybe our last pleasure in life, was now the innocent joy of smoking together in the garden. The house we rented offered a well maintained lawn framed by walls covered with a jungle of ivy, though it was tormented by a relentless sun. Later in the evening, sheltered by the dark and the tender cool of the night, we sneaked out, rolled, licked the glue and…  puffed away, under silence. After all, she was my wife. This carefree routine went on for several nights when one day,  the weed had turned yellow. It slightly horrified me as well as Barbara.

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