The night Mediterranean takes the town over. It taints the streets, seeps over old and new furniture, a watery pall blunting even the barks of the stray dog.
He wonders how long it had been since either had spoke in the room. So he whispers, I’m going….Ravachol deserves better.
Wrapped in his arms, she refuses to stir.
He adds, there are things more important than us.
She leans in and kisses his throat.
First posted on July 10th, 2016, on my previous blog for Jane Dougherty’s Microfiction Challenge #4 with Edvard Munch’s “The Kiss at the Window” (1892).
The inspiration for the title was derived from the fact that in February 1892 Munch moved into the house of the painter Christian Skredsvig in Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat outside Nice.
I am re-posting it in part because I was working on my novel for NaNoWritMO and a facet of the story reminded me of it. I had decided to have some of the action take place at a Bill Evans Trio performance in Oslo on October 28, 1966. Only afterwards did I bother to take note of the actual venue, which turned out to be the Munch Museum in Oslo. Nice little surprise.