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He tucked his chin over the flipped-up front of his t-shirt.
He had a little gut. She had hoped for more,
or less, rather. She sat in her car watching him fumble
with something at his waist. Now there was no more
hoping, only the store she had driven here for
and the man with the paunch between her
and the front door. "Fuck," she said, "fuck fuck fuck,"
and smacked the dash. It looked like he had just
found his body south of the liver. Maybe
he'd peel off his jeans and continue
the exploration. She finished her cigarette and tried
a few belly breaths.
He looked up from himself when her heels --
"Get away from me!" she yelled.
He startled and she saw twine knotted between his
belt loops. She reminded herself to apologize
on the way out, when he was gone.
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