‘You know that will never dry,’ she says in a seductive, child-like voice perfected over years for moments like this. She talks into the corner of...my moistened mouth. ‘Now write what you want. Not what you want to write, but what you want.’ She sits there while I think about that. ‘Do, you, Pen, do you…know what you want?’ she asks, her forehead plastered on mine, her eyes squinting directly into mine so close she is blurry. Suddenly the truth strikes me. Why yes, actually. I do. I do know. It had darkened outside and the aquarium had slowly grown quiet. The tourists had left. The sounds of whining children disappeared, the complaining of teenagers faded and the laughter of mothers trailed off. Phillips hand was still pressed up against the glass as the young woman tapped him on the shoulder. Um, Sir&hellip,were clos&hellip, her voice trailed off as Phillip turned to look at her. His eyes, now a violent green, peered deep into her blue ones. As their eyes met once again it was as. More

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