In the Fik of it

Watching the condensation slip down the side of the martini glass was enough to make me laugh.   Either I’d been staring too long it or had finally managed to clear enough of the vodka out of the fluted glass that I could find something as simple as sweat humorous.   “It must be latter rather than the former” I said out loud to myself in an empty room.   The tell was that I found the glass to not only be humorous but to be slightly erotic in shape as well.   Clearly, the vodka had hit the mark. The helpers had decided to take Bethany out for a ride now that her tantrum was over.   “ Roll her while she’s happy” , is the motto around here.   Just minutes before she was a furious and confusing mass of anger.   Now she was laughing and carrying on in a delightful manner.   Delightful if you’re a prizefighter anyway.   They found her socks and shoes, stuffed them on her rather square, stubby feet and headed out the door. I sat in the silence for a moment, soaki

“The problem”, He said as he leaned over the table and looked deep into my eyes, “is that you let your reasoning and your own ideas keep getting in the way of my plans”.   This was a bit of a shock to me as I fancied myself a pretty fair and reasonable man. “Don’t spoil my plans by wanting to impose your ideas”.   With that, He leaned back in his seat and waited form me to respond. For a while, I sat there and listened to the chatter of the coffee shop; smelled the deep aromas of cold coffee and burned toast.   I let myself turn his words over in my head and wondered if I’d end up smelling like burned crow as well as the burned toast that was at this very moment permeating my clothing.   I looked at Him and started to say something in my defense but I realized He was not only way ahead of me in the discussion, He was way right. His stare remained fixed and without a movement of his body he continued with one last indictment; “I need my hands free to act Da

While swimming laps today, I could hear her murmuring from the other pool.   I have no idea who she is and I can’t understand a word she says; one thing for sure, she certainly says them.   I’d seen her many times before and I secretly admired her confidence. She carefully walked down the stairs into the adjoining therapy pool as I sat there adjusting my goggles and futzing around with my earplugs; this the first time I’d seen her on land, was a sight to behold.   She was in fact quite tall and had a girth about her that reminded me of the old syrup bottles of Aunt Jemima; a woman with a presence and confidence that said more visually than she’d ever have to say verbally.   She was wearing a full-length swimsuit that vaguely reminded me of the survival suits that that are commonly used on commercial fishing vessels; vibrant orange from neck to toe.   Over that suit she was festooned with noodle-like flotation antennae.   A bristling band around her waist and a c