She watched his heart have a small fit under his black T-shirt. Its unsteady rhythm was a bridge between them. Lost in the possibilities he offered her, she studied his thin face, aquiline nose, tobacco-yellow fingers. In the moment, which swallowed her whole, she admired his need to smoke. She wouldn’t always, but not being able to stop meant something, now. Certain damage was sexy, a few sinuous scars. He’d be willing, eager maybe, to exist with her in the margins.

Eleven Answers to Questions Lynne Tillman Has Never Been Asked

 

1. When she is bored by someone, she feels she’s dying. Luckily, people don’t usually bore her.

 

2. She does not repeat secrets (with rare exceptions). Instead, she represses and forgets them. She is embarrassed speaking with a person whose secret she is expected to know.