“What do you think I miss most here in hell?”

“Sunsets.” I turned around to see who was there.

“No, not at all.” Rocking back on her heels,
“Sunsets abound. Horizon’s what’s missing.”

It took me a moment to place the face –
cameo oval, small dimple in chin.
Eyes of a drinker, the oversized eyes –
like sherry in the glass that the guest leaves.

I suspect white gowns much more fashionable
in heaven. Most people wear black in hell.

Larger than a wren. Hair colored chestnut.
My eyes traced her scalp straight down the middle.

“Horizon’s missing, yes. I don’t miss it.”

“Don’t know,” I said finally. “What do you miss?”

“The solitude, of course.” She scratched her neck.
“People are the only drawback to hell.”