Alberto

Alberto has all but forgotten everything.

“Do you remember that time…” he is asked, but the answer is invariably “no.”

Occasionally, there are flashes: an amusement park whirring below him and the sound of wood against steel; the breath of an older woman with hungry lips; an angry morning in Pittsburgh. But, like all the rest, they are gone before long.

One morning, a long woman with hair the color of butterscotch stands on his front porch, begging for forgiveness with dark, sad eyes.

“It was such a long time ago,” she pleads.

Alberto agrees, because she seems honest enough.

Photo credit: Fabian