In September of 1988, Bobby McFerrin was no. 1 on the Billboard charts, André the Giant was at the very height of his career in the WWF, in a feud with the Hulkman himself, and Edmund was losing his virginity. Or rather, finally shaking it off. He was 16, and Thea Fielding had just turned 17, it happened on her birthday. She lay with her head uplifted like a doe, eyes like endless wells. Neither made hardly a sound.

In West Berlin, there were protests, violent, against the World Bank. Edmund's German lineage made the Wall a regular topic of dinner table discussion, over creamed potatoes and niblets. But he screwed for the first time unaware of the violence, the suffering, the sacrifice that people endure to express themselves. He had the closest thing in the world, another body attached to his, and he didn't say a word. If ever there were a chance to express oneself, surely this was it. But there was just breath, and looking, at and away, and irregular rhythm.

The summer olympics were happening in Korea. Greg Louganis hit his head on the diving board and bled into the pool. He was HIV positive at the time. Thea didn't notice as she bled upon the sheet, covered blue in stars. It can't survive in open water, the other swimmers weren't in any danger. Edmund apologized involuntarily, after it was over, and lay looking at the ceiling, finally hearing the clock again, snick snick snick.