Shut the Curtain - C. A. Winter

There’s a man over. He’s got blonde hair and a dark jacket. Some kind of hat. Sports, maybe. It’s blue. I imagine it to be a Cubs hat but that’s my bias. If it were black, it would be Sox. Red for Blackhawks. I suppose if it’s dark blue it could be the Bears. I squint. Don’t see any orange. 

He put his keys on the dresser and is taking his jacket off. Thin ankles for arms. Disappointing. Baggy tee underneath. Unlabelled, unwashed. She comes into view. Hand on his chest. They’re kissing, she’s groping his butt. Her shirt comes off first, then his. Double D’s, surely. Skin colour bra, leggings, birthmark brown and jarring on her collarbone. I forgot it was there. If I had a body like hers I would have it removed. 

They disappear and a white sock flies across the room. Lands next to his keys. Very TV of them. I turn the faucet off and wipe my hands on the towel. There’s a sliver of raw onion on the floor next to the stove. Feel it on my foot, bending, pick it up. Looking out the window and the man is naked with a hand around his balls. Stretching, pulling the blinds shut. Love handles and a receding hairline under the cap. Yet he’s there and I’m not. I grin but he’s gone behind a velvet wall. I toss the onion in the trash and close my slatted blinds. 

Twist the knob and end the show. 


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