He always kept the gum wrapper, to put his gum in after it was chewed, after the flavor was gone. He always kept a bevy of women on his arm, to put his soul in after he was used up, after his faith was gone. He always kept a wipe in his wallet rather than a condom, because he had a greater chance of getting dirty than getting off.
She glided in like a dismembered jet engine, slamming into his heart and summoning his fire brigade. He dissociated her from pain immediately. Somehow he knew this crash would have two survivors.
He flipped her over his back, twirling her in place before matching her steps. This lindy hop was jumpin’ and jivin’, daddy-o. One more martini and he would be spelling their night backwards.
The view from the penthouse was lovely. So easy to just jump off, living happily for the rest of their lives. This dance competition was over, sister.
Two martinis, twists of lemon, hold the glasses until the clear juice was gone, then stop holding them. Pop, pop, like the fourth of never, hitting the street. Hitting the sheets like very friendly ghosts, flowing through each other, bending time, twisting space, spinning yarns and telling tales with sweat and mouths and tongues and bodies, never mind the broken glass.
That was the night, daddy-o. It sparkled and dazzled and burned out slowly, never growing dim. Their heat, their sparks, their fire had enough light.