I can just imagine
the missed connection: “we
said you were cute
at the mezzanine.
couple, 40s, plz reply.”
Probably sent from
an iPhone, the husband’s
breath still slightly sweet
from the Caucasian, drink
of the Dude.
Propositioned,
I figure the wife
thought she could get an in,
welcome me into their Egyptian cotton kink
in their San Francisco loft
with parking no less.
Art, strongly
vaginal, on the walls and eco-friendly
lube at the bedside table. Still on the
waiting list for a Smart Car, though.
Instead, I mumbled
something about my boyfriend, grasping
his hand–not that they wouldn’t
mind an extra pair. Turning,
I swiveled my eyes
to the stage, where flat-
chested girls slipped out
of bra tops, and felt more
comfortable not having to make
conversation.
