The Wind Blows North, What's Spilled Can't Return

The night before my boyfriend and I flew home, he played the Rosamund spin one last time with the college girls. "Rosamund, same as the last ninety-eight times. Find a good angle and shoot it." "Once we sell the compilation upstream, we go home and buy a place." I nodded numbly. The music started, and Raymond stood in the middle. Six college girls bent at the waist, formed a ring around him, and began to spin.