We argued without settling anything. And I pulled down my zipper. Then the cop tapped on the window. Blame her, I said, trying to act happy.

She had a craving. I had an itch. Can we help each other? she asked. I doubted it and said so. She told me her craving. I missed that boat.

She’s so negative. Everything’s like don’t do this don’t do that. She just doesn’t understand me. So what if I don’t like pants? They chafe.

The door opens and she walks in and says, Sorry. He covers up; he has never been unhappier. They stare at each other. So now what? she asks.

I went for a massage, I told her. Not that kind of massage, I said when she gave me a look. No for real, I insisted. It’s like this everyday.