Like a mis-wired Marionette
<p>Marsh puts the coffee down. Her knee as she adjusts, hits the table’s leg, juddering the heavy top to a side. He arrests the sway as if he has anticipated, his eyes conveying sure purpose.</p>
<p>Ed was her fitness instructor. They had met during the fit-45 sessions in Carnegie back when she was living in a one bedroom flat, and owned a blue Mazda 2. He was much older than her, in his forties, physically fit, with hands of a warrior, those muscles severely taut as if he had replaced the bits of him with annealed cables of steel.</p>
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