Spider Dreams

New York - Times Square - July 1977

I just want to get it over with.

I am too tired to want to and too tired to say no. Men never say no unless the woman is unfuckable, or so she thinks. Saying yes is a lot easier and I am tired, very tired.

I throw her underwear on the floor. I am unworried about my lack of romanticism. It’s an old pair with the lace trim fraying.

My elbow is digging into my ribs. I shift, run my hand up her back to the nape of her neck and gently tug on a handful of hair.

I think about Goodroll. I could write his story. His African adventures have a lot of gaps. I imagine him in the jungle. Creepy crawlers, spiders. A bed. Pulling back the covers, the sheets are carpeted with spiders.

“Hey! Wake up! I have to go to work.”

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