It’s six thirty, and everyone with something to live for has left for the weekend. Here I am with the ascetic holiness of over-achievement. But it’s fine. There won’t be any kisses or how-was-your-day stories waiting in the apartment. And the sweet hum of idle computer monitors beats the clamor of a crowded bar.
Then I see her, and it’s like the first time I ever saw a woman.
I stand up and shut the door to the office. How hadn’t I noticed her standing there? She’s erect and motionless, her long neck a conduit from the fusty earth to the fragrant heavens. I slide up next to her without resistance and feel the softness. She’s turned on—all wire, hoses, and electricity. All mouth. I guide her nearer and inch inside.
It’s over in a flash of heaviness and importance.
The elevator sings. A custodian steps out to fetch some forgotten equipment. He sees me through the glass door, then gets back in the elevator. He mashes at the buttons and I avert my eyes.
I’m in a vacuum. It’s just me and her.