Dearest Cecilia, the story can resume. The one I had been planning on that evening walk. I can become again the man who once crossed the surrey park at dusk, in my best suit, swaggering on the promise of life. The man who, with the clarity of passion, made love to you in the library.
“I always have a beard between jobs. I just let it grow until they pay me to shave it. People are quite surprised it’s ginger. Sometimes they ask me if dye my hair and I always say ‘Wow, no!’ I’m 'trans-ginger’.”