The Trailing Edge

Previous Chapter The guys finished the car and invited me out to look at it. They had done a fine job -- the Nissan gleamed. Ben was comically soaked, so Warren helped him with the process of showering and changing into dry clothes. Now that Warren, Trevor and I were back full-time in our own clothes, we felt free to pop them into the washer and dryer that we kept outside (formerly camouflaged) under an eave. I didn’t offer to do this for Ben; there was an excellent chance that the machinery and detergents would shred his hand-stitched garments, so until Gerry arrived and offered him an alternative wardrobe of standard 21st-century washables, we hung his wet things out to dry. If they weren’t done by the time the sun went down, we’d just bring them back in. All I got from Warren -- all I had time for, really -- was a quick horizontal shake of his head as I met his gaze with the silent question of whether anything interesting had been found in Ben’s pockets during the change. Af...

                   For a thousand years, writers have been sitting in coffee shops (and bars) writing stories. It's Sunday afternoon and I am sitting in Nordstrom's cafe, at the entrance to Nordstrom's store in a high end mall, sipping Nordstrom's coffee, watching Nordstrom's shoppers. After an hour or so of boredom, the people are so much the same - shopping, walking around, mingling with friends - I begin to notice how women dress and how men dress. Women's style is all about their body. I see spandex to show off hour-glass curves, low cut blouse to show off cleavages, mini-skirts to show off legs, short shorts to show off butt cheeks, tight jeans to show off both hips and legs at the same time, and yoga pants to show off ... well you know what. Then there are the women in sweats to hide their apple curves, long tunics to hide their hips, and baggy clothes to hide their weight. Men's fashion is about a look and rarely abo...