Jan 21, 2012 | Post by: Devon Knight No Comments

Implode (The Resplendence of Oysters)

 
Though they were decidedly ashore, serenaded by the amber glow of the renowned French eatery, appropriately situated within the epicenter of Manhattan, he still found himself lost along the song of the ocean. And though the arrangement was to regale at midday, feasting with his wife, it was a spectacular swell that captured his fancy, the aquatic cascade awash along the length of the golden wall. Maxwell sat, engulfed in the image, his navy blue Tom Ford ensemble insulating him from the imaginary winds.

“Max?”

He returned to West 51st Street.

“You haven’t touched your oysters.”

The architect observed his wife, longingly, though his wistful gaze indicated that he was still adrift upon the illusory wave. It was not so long ago that he manned the sail, chartering the effervescent waters of the Mediterranean sea. He recalled the splendor of the Iberian sunshine and the demeanor of Benjamin Grey, who was haughtier in those days, as well as the grandiose Etienne Rousseau, also aboard the skiff. And though their course was never determined, the Rugby friends would always arrive on schedule, at the most appropriate ports along the peninsula.

“Max?”

The architect returned once more. He sighed heavily, before capitulating to his wife, turning his attention toward the molluscs on his plate.

“My apologies.”

Claire observed him, concerned.

“Is there something wrong?”

Maxwell reassured her.

“Forgive me, my love. I was far away.”

Claire continued to observe as the gentleman builder carefully removed the delectable morsel from its savory shell. She smiled.

“The last time you had oysters…”

“We were in Cancale.” He replied.

And as he brought the maritime sustenance to his mouth, the Bvlgari cufflinks peering from the edge of his custom sleeve, the Lady Mulberry continued to observe her beloved. She then took a considerable amount of air into her lungs, before exhaling in her own longing sigh. Content to allow him a moment of pause, the delicate chef observed him, for a moment longer, before reaching for the crystal flute of rosé notes.

Indeed. He was far away.

Implode. Part LXXIV – DK

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  • A NOTE ON IMPLODE

    With regard to <em>Implode</em>, certain details, locations, occurences, et al. may not resonate along your cerebral palate if read out of context. For this reason, it is recommended following the episodes in chronological order, as they appear, which requires a bit of time travel.

    The first experience occurs in January 2010 with <a href="http://vaionyva.com/2010/01/implode-the-birth-of-max-mulberry/">The Birth of Max Mulberry</a>.

    Thank you.
    Grazie.
    Merci.

    For allowing me to be apart of you,
    If only for a moment.

    - DK