Adam
There is a jetty on Lake Geneva that thinks it is a philosopher. Every few minutes a voice drifts over the water and asks questions no one really wants to answer. That night the recording says, “who’s delusions have you drowned?” Although the grammar is strange, the timing is perfect. I stand back from the railing and watch Adam pretend he has not heard it. He sits alone at the edge of the lake, hood up, shoulders slightly curved, phone in hand. He always tries to look like he has himself figured out. He has not. The man-child carries confusion like spare change in his pocket, rattling everywhere he goes. He calls himself a dumbfuck without blinking, a habit he has perfected far too early. Most men take years to earn that level of self-deprecation. He lifts his vape and inhales with the seriousness of someone negotiating a treaty. The blue light on the device blinks against his cheek. He holds the vapor longer than necessary. When he exhales, the cloud rises in a thin, unste...