The rectilinear man.(Short story)

"Can we go and see my mum this weekend?"

David glanced up from his Saturday morning newspaper. He and Sandra sat together on the balcony of their apartment, two coffees on a small table between them.

Sandra gazed at her husband, waiting for his answer. David shifted in his seat, peeved, and did not respond.

Below them, two parallel streets converged into the distance, flanking and confining two rows of back-to-back houses. In the far west, beyond this clean perspective, there was a disturbance, an ill-defined wavering at the edge of David's vision: the mountains, stretching low along the horizon. David had known this view all his life.

"You never want to go with me to my mum's," Sandra complained.

"I don't mind your mum," David muttered. "It's that drive I can't stand; especially all that Sunday afternoon traffic in the mountains. It's a pity she has to live up there."

"A pity!" Sandra snorted, exaggerating his tone with a sarcastic expression on her face.