She kisses him again but he pulls away. I really have to go, he says. And so he does. And then she picks up the phone and calls another guy.

I’m old enough to remember getting turned on by Diana Rigg, he says. And this means nothing to her, which was the problem in the first place

She watches him walk in from the rain. She hands him a towel and asks if he feels better. He gets mad. Writers are so full of shit, he says.

The truck stopped and she ran to it and hopped inside. The driver looked her up and down and she stepped back out. Because he smelled funny.

Then the winds blew in from the north, signaling summer’s end. He looked in his closet sadly. Because he just could not afford a new season.

The sadness in the room was pervasive, like humidity. There had been no closure. Just unfulfilled desire in the form of an empty cookie jar.

The morning rain had been modest at best. They pulled out of the driveway and said goodbye to their old home. And then the storm descended.