Michelangelo's Shoulder

"Nothing's changed," Charlie said. "Commodus?"

"Second century, A.D. We're not a police state, yet. Things get really crazy under one man rule. Have you not read Gibbon?"

"The Decline and Fall--never got around to it."

"Good for perspective," Margery said.

"That green!" Charlie waved at the trees along I-95. "We only get it for a week when the leaves are coming out."

"Yes." Margery settled into her seat. Perspective was a good thing, Charlie thought. Even keel and all that. But there was something to be said for losing it. If he could have his choice of cuties, he'd just as soon have one of those dark eyed Mediterranean fireballs--breasts, slashing smile--someone who spoke with her whole body.

They arrived at the cemetery in good time. Margery declined his offer to carry the special rocks, wanting to bring them herself. They were intended to protect the base of a rugosa she'd planted the previous year. As usual, Charlie accompanied her and then re