She was looking at me.

She was looking at me, most likely by accident. Possibly she didn’t even see me. I, in turn, started to examine her, and completely stopped hearing anything my wife was saying.

CONFESSION BY REGINE RAYEVSKY FISHER 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 109

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In a small cozy tavern in Berlin, a party of married couples sat in flickering candlelight around a table covered with bottles and dishes. They were talking loudly about the infidelity of the husband of a couple who, that particular night, were not there. Everyone was speaking at once without listening to the others, and everyone was having a good time. With the opening of another bottle of Bordeaux, contempt and judgement of the husband started to turn to pity.

Suddenly, one of the wives, her cheeks flushed from the wine, raised her glass and said, “How about we go around the table and each one of us tells the others of the darkest deepest sin he or she has ever committed?”