Monday, January 26, 2015

Toast and tomato and pastrami and a fried egg for breakfast.

I eat to the sound of the McElroy brothers.

Old episodes.

They remind me...

They remind me of sipping Jameson.

Of her hand unbuttoning my shirt.

Her tenuous grasping at my zipper.

Of my semi-restrained reciprocation—my passivity.

Waiting for her to make the mistake.

The brothers joke about sneaking a kitten through airport security.

I laugh at the computer on the side table.

She smiles at me, startled by the rarity of the sound.

Her hands return to my chest, the tension gone from her fingers.

Not tonight.

Not yet.

I wake up next to her at 6:12 AM.

I am going to be late for an appointment.

Two tomato slices left on my plate.

I finish my breakfast and sit on my porch and read a good book for four years.

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