“How you doing, Mackie?” Claudia, the nymph, my little vixen, lying upon the grass, staring up at the clouds floating by, asked. Strawberry hair cut just below the ear, layered of course. She favored clove cigarettes on cool winter days like these, days before the freeze. The wind, soft and cool, fell over her, pulling upon her summer dress. She held the helm down with one hand to keep from fluttering around. If I breathe too hard, she once told me, I’m afraid I’d lost grasp on reality. Float on by, float on and on, away from you. “You’ll never float away from me, Claudia.” “But I have. You just haven’t noticed.” Fucking Anderson in the back room. The stench of our sex. Sprawled…