He will arrive at the boutique hotel and note the unfashionable clothing on the staff. I’ve been lied to, he’ll say. And no one will listen.

The building was impressive and oppressive all at once. I can’t work in this place, he told his colleague. And so he ran toward the windows.

She wears the skirt with discomfort, pulling at it, sensing overexposure, the reality that perhaps she is showing too much, even the bruises

The hair atop her head was giant and wild, and he saw in it lots of annoyance and when she walked to him, he said to her, You don’t want me.

He says, I don’t like those zombie movies, as he pours his wife another glass of wine. She smiles then, and thinks about the nature of irony

He kept telling her his name and she kept mispronouncing it. He knew she was doing it on purpose. As a comment on his tremendous desperation

She slapped his ass and she said, Not flirtatious, and he wasn’t sure, but then he never was and he would continue to question his sexuality