Chapter 7

BARDO NOIR

Year Three

Time passed. I acquired a home, a wife, a rocking chair in which I would sway in front of the crackling open fire. A nutty, promising aroma drifted from the kitchen; she had been in there for a long while now. An image of Croc surfaced in my mind, from our first meeting in the corner bar. Perhaps I had dozed off for a moment, because there was no connection between the image and what I had just been thinking, almost like a leak from a dream, wherever that in turn had come from.