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 The Last Resort
by Lisa Carver
Joel is naked, possible traveling clothes circling his feet like a Christmas tree skirt, when he announces that he has the body of a fifty year old: white, flabby, varicose-veined. He is, in fact, twenty-six. Julie, who moved into Joel's apartment six months ago, is not repulsed by his fat. Therefore, Joel concludes, she must be in collusion with it. "Why don't you two run off together," he once suggested. His flesh is so lively and slippery, it seems to Julie it could be taken off, a selkie slipping out of its sealskin. Joel fixes one eyeball on Julie. Will she take the flab's side against him? With the other eyeball he takes a final survey of their home through the open bedroom door before their departure: Did she leave anything lying about? He spots an apron decorated with strawberries on the floor. Julie doesn't cook, exactly; she just likes to walk around wearing aprons and rollers.
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