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July 2014, vol 10, no 2

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Garry Eaton


It's late, the band is already playing, and we've just got seated with our drinks when the candle in the tall red plastic bulb on the table dims and goes out. Our waitress grabs another, but in her haste she drowns the flame in hot wax. She'll be awhile getting a starter, so I quickly pour off the wax, invert the bulb and hold my lighter flame inside, six inches from the wick at the bottom. After a minute it starts to smoke and relights. I invert the bulb and place it back, glowing, at the centre of the table.

Maggie, whom I've never met before, puts a hand on mine and says, with a hint of Marilyn in her voice, "I'd feel safe camping with you sometime, Mr. Edison."

her dancingĀ 
with the one who brought her
slow burn