He talks; I sit and listen, nodding my head in continuous acknowledgement. After a while my head grows dizzy and I change to long, comprehending smiles. The sun left us about an hour ago. Now leaden clouds gather, tumescent with rain, forming a dull grey blanket that will sooner or later suffocate me. Two staccato voices move urgently along the passage: another injustice taking place somewhere. We stop for a second to listen and then eye one another in supposed superior understanding of the world we have trapped outside that door: the stained wooden door leading to the stained sodden corridor of this dead-end avenue hotel room we have chosen for the afternoon.
“Aren’t we one and the same?” He croons, dripping affectation.
My gaze drifts over his head to the window and a thousand tiny explosions as each droplet throws itself against the glass. I feel like doing the same.
“Shall we leave now?” He smiles, rising. My mind wanders resentfully back towards my body.
“And my point of view?” I ask sweetly.
“Oh that.” He coos, his smug smile as saccharin as mine. ”I think I covered everything. Is there anything else?” His lazy nonchalant shrug indicating that the question is rhetorical.
Satisfied, he leaves. I stay – just a little longer, I tell myself, to inhale the odour with which our shallow union has imbued the room. There are no fond goodbyes and as the lock clicks, my body slumps further in to the chair, my spirit tumbling deeper in to that huge physical wasteland that is our sex.
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