fiction

Sensitive Skin gives hugs, viz to “Santa Fe Three-way”

What is retirement? The American dream, right? Shed the job, cruise into the easy life. Lawn chairs and mai tais by the pool.

Or a heart attack at 66, bored to tears, overdosed on oxy and despairing at the emptiness of it all. No friends. No reason to get up. More reason, day by day, to check out.

It was on a recent visit to the chi-chi art colony of Santa Fe, New Mexico, that the idea for this story came to me. I was visiting a book store, not far from the Canyon Road gallery strip. A coffee shop inside provided lattes to browsers and the bored retirees who had somehow found themselves living, at least part of the year, in the surrounding, overpriced homes. Outside, at opposite corners of the flagstone patio, sat three older men. Alone. Fiddling with their phones. Sipping foamed milk and java in the afternoon sun. Obviously, aimless. Beyond clear reason to keep on living, I assumed, inferring that what they were doing was anything but their definition of living.

“Santa Fe Three-way” emerged from that. It’s now up at the longtime, respected lit website, Sensitive Skin. Hope you enjoy it.

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