“De Temps En Temps,” by Josephine Baker. That’s what I was listening to. Funny now to think I'd ever forget how it felt, something like that. 

Alone and facing my death in a stranger’s beach house, next to a dark, cold, ocean in the dead of Winter.

I ate Dove chocolates and soaked in a warm bath with bubbles to the brim, and listened to “De Temps en Temps,” while lifting a razor to...

Read and leave comments (0)