’ Susan wondered if that cliche’ went for telephones or even lives. Her house looked different, hell, it was different. Black cars were parked all...around it and inside there was a murmur of activity, nothing like daily life, more like an undercurrent. Voices were muted, conversations stopped as she approached, smiles were suddenly hidden. The house smelled differently, no longer filled with the warm scents of ginger and baking bread, cookies in the oven, a pie cooling on the oven, perhaps. After that I never talked to him again.Until the unexpected happened. Sarah, one of my best friends, the typical tall, blonde and popular girl, shallow but a really good person, came running to tell me that Marco had returned to the city. She was one of the few who knew how much I missed him.Without wasting time I got ready and we left to the bar where she said she had seen him. And as soon as we got out of her car I saw him walking down the front stairs of the bar. He was incredibly taller. More

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