I stared at him, unsure where to begin, my fingers brushing the revolver in my coat pocket. I had picked it up two days ago, and it felt great to have a gun! I liked its weight in my hand, the coolness of the steel, and I wondered what I would use it for. Perhaps, like Tom, I could shoot gophers in the backyard. It didn’t matter much to me. I only knew that I loved it, that I wanted to take it with me everywhere. Was it the only thing I liked about my life right now? Tonight Mike and I were hosting a dinner party. I didn’t want to cube cheese, to wear a cocktail dress, to mingle, but my husband was celebrating the completion of Embarcadero West, now San Francisco’s tallest building. Already I was sick of hearing about materiality, about human scale, about spatial composition, but how could I tell Mike to shut up? His eyes got so bright when he talked about that damn skyscraper. I hadn’t said much to my daughters since taking Stacey on her field trip a week ago, and I couldn’t help suspecting that they were both mad at me, which angered me. What had I done wrong?
