He took a tentative glance at the screen again. He waited for a response. They were on the other side just wasting time. He knew it. What were they doing? He became anxious in a huff beneath his breath. He’d been at it for three hours. He sat up off the floor again and walked to the bathroom. The lights were bright day light and the vent was running. He dragged from his pipe. The incendiary tongue flicked stoic. He waited for the signal to alert him. He rubbed his crotch. Another five minutes had passed. He tried thinking about something else. A distraction. He could pay a bill. That would help. He opened another window. He listened for the signal. Glanced at the screen. It glowed in a colorful grid like a sordid and shameful all male rendition of the Brady bunch square. He couldn’t help but to refresh. He recognized a new face. Ugh, he thought, him. What’s he doing over here? He knew exactly what he was doing there, even as his contact went off line and the minutes passed. Sometimes there wasn’t a point. He may not have been ready and tempted fate too much. He may have been impatient trying to find him. Or something. Shallow as it was, fleeting and anonymous, the warmth it provided, wrapped itself around him and fired upon his flesh a memory he constantly desired.
“To Look In Vain” is written by Michael Aaron Casares. All right reserved.