I am sitting at a bus stop under a sudden sun. It is 35 minutes since I left his apartment; left the beer bottles like carcasses all along the floor. We met each other last night, each of us shiny from shower and hair product, teeth pearly and my features drawn in kohl and red dye. He has a window that opens only a crack. We sit on the couch and face a mute TV. I feel his body relax next to mine. His belly has gotten a tiny bit softer, more endearing. I have come to get my things, which are sitting in a pile near the front door. Beer? I ask, even though that’s what he should’ve said. Beer, he repeats, taking a pabst from the freezer. Sorry, he says. I take it and shake the slush, take a long draw just to get a drop. We orbit each other. I see he’s cut his hair and it actually looks good. We watch TV and get involved in the characters. We rejoice in a girl’s dimples. The show is about NASA, and a girl floats with frizzy hair above her head. Something is very funny and we laugh. He takes my hand. Later, after we make love, I float next to him on the bed. I wash myself in his bath, see the ends of his hair drifting beside me. There are some things I will not understand.