They hiked along the trail, past windblown trees and bush and over rocky scree. He stopped finally and said to her: I think we’re alone now.

They sit side by side and watch the rain fall. The sky is the color of steel. We should, he says. But you don’t even know my name, she says.

He drove home, the stench of the night’s activities all over him. Each smell a future regret. Except for one. He regretted that one already.