The other day, I dropped by my place of employment, even though I wasn't working, with my girlfriend, whom we'll call Linda. An older woman I work with, whom we'll call Carrie, was there, and she was really perturbed with me, as if she were only then beginning to fathom the depths of my moral depravity.
"He can't be trusted!" she said "check his pockets! He's probably going to steal everything he can get his hands on!" I turned them inside-out to show that they were empty. She was not impressed.
"He has no home inside. His heart is empty."
Suddenly she grabbed Linda by the hand and led her off somewhere. I knew the room they would be headed to, though I wasn't sure if they knew that I knew it.
Listening outside the door, I could hear Carrie, still faintly declaiming to the doll-silent Linda. I whispered magic words into the keyhole that sounded like a mouse skeleton being crushed. The lock heard and relaxed, the bolt slid back.
At the other end of the room, in the moonglow of the night window, was a bunk bed. Upon the top bunk, a slow double shape was making small soft noises. The smell of sex was very strong, almost caustic, like ammonia.
I approached the bed and peeled the sheet off. They were sixty-nining each other passionately, skin sweat-slick and fingers threaded through tangled, saturated hair.
I watched them as long as I could. And that's all.
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