Bathhouse Diaries

When will you learn, Dillon said to me. Dillon’s balcony overlooked the sea, and ships glittered in the distance. It doesn’t hurt to have another glass, does it, I said, perhaps a touch of irony in my voice, my hand already reaching for the Shiraz sweating cold beads in the ice. Nothing escaped Dillon, not the acquired, outward refinement of my taste, not the tremble in my voice.