Surviving Winter
I always had the sense that Marion knew more of people than could ever be knowingly understood about her.
She had this decadent life and a bar in Dalt Vila, Ibiza's old town. We’d studied English together at university. I went on to write moderately successful fiction and Marion lived in fiction; wholeheartedly collecting anecdotes from miscellaneous boyfriends and misadventures. Her bar was a finka, an ex had left to her. I holidayed there every year and she’d share these wild stories ritualistically over wine and torn bread, and olives in colorfully painted bowls I could just discern under residual slicks of oil.
