i saw a man and woman fucking

I saw a man and woman fucking. His thrusts were crude, unloving. She wore a ring, it was not his. She wanted me to see. I walked away, it was dark. A laughing couple passed me in the other direction. The streetlamp went out. The night bus passed, stopped ahead. I ran to catch it. On the bus, there were winos and silent faces. I sat forward, moving away from the fucking. I could hear it in my head. Oh, oh she said. Unconvincing. I was not horny any more.

I woke the next morning. On the way to work, I saw rubbers and blood. There was no way of knowing. Sordid passion, lifeless sex.

I fucked my wife. She had cooked dinner. She smelled of grease. She said, “oh, oh.” Our thoughts were elsewhere. She brushed my cheek. I put my shorts on. She wore a faded bra. Our apartment was dingy. I went downstairs.

I walked the street, went in a bar. I saw a woman, she asked for a smoke. She was not sober, I soon was neither. We conspired to fly, to tan on sand.

I walked home. The bus went past me. It was quite late, most were at home. A sad young woman was in the window. She smiled a sad smile, unbuttoned her blouse. I stopped and met her eyes, her bra dropped from her, her breasts were small, she looked worn out.

I smiled a half smile, she did seem grateful, I turned and walked, and went back home. I watched TV, old Johnny Carson. I went to bed, turned out the light.