i was half sleeping. it was all i could manage. the house had a hum to it, even though the a/c was off and the window nearly closed. the thickly flavored air of southern summer creeped through the sills like water run-off, and a muffled highway followed.

it was late. i knew this, despite being without a clock in the bedroom, because laura was getting home. bartenders were surveyors of the time at night/morning where nothing and everything happened, and carrying a life like that meant creating a new perspective on empty streets, tired hookers, and the lone college kid lost on nearly an eighth of shrooms.

her keys were grinding in and out of the front door. wrong one. silence, followed by the musical rustle of things in her bag. and; another voice. a guy desperately failing at a whisper. i could picture his pointing a drunken finger towards where he thought the layout of our apartment granted "the roommates bedroom". wrong again. they entered, and with it, some sort of laugh.

no matter how diluted laura's blood became her state of reaction and action were always true and covert. things started to shed to the ground like autumn;—shoes tumbling to corners, a belt buckle marring the floors, fingers finding soft nooks in warm, hidden places. i couldn't help myself. i was now completely awake, and hard enough to make idiotic mistakes. i cracked open my door just enough to see to the hallway. clear. i'm only using the bathroom.

but i stopped at her door. i was staring at a panel of wood that needed a fresh coat, but the sounds made a picture for me to view before it. it was picking up inside, and by the timing of breaths i could tell they were completely naked. i had to open the door. just enough. every millimeter was an intricately controlled step of sound and space. i imagined vaseline molecules lubricating every cheap metal latch and spring. the door was open without anyone being the wiser. first there were feet, no rubbing meant no real affection. tally one towards not feeling too guilty on springing in on a meaningful fuck. calves. ass. and the door was efficiently open for me to see everything like a widescreen porno. i looked down and my dick was out, a hard shaft filled with a mixture of guilt, wanting, and pleasure. all boiling to the point of pressure.

when i looked up again laura was on top, her tits dancing in circles like two rave kids flying parallel in their own ecstacized universe. her nipples, dark chocolate planets sucking the light from the room, dipping into a waiting—too lucky—mouth. and she was back up, doing some pre-rehearsed head-tossed-back-fucked-like-she-hadn't-been-fucked-in-a-while move. i could hear whitesnake seeping through the nail holes in the wall (where pictures used to hang). my hand followed her thrusts, and the more sweat that dripped down her—from tight black curls on her head, down between her perfect tits, collecting in her navel, overfilling, and down to the tight black curls between her legs;–a perfect geometrical vertical—the more i began to lose the reality of touch around me. no longer was my hand propping my weight up on the moulding of her door, or tugging tightly between my legs. i wasn't breathing. i wasn't firing neurons. i did not exist, except for the consciousness of a microscopic bulb reflected in laura's eyes. and then i realized she was looking at me. no, she was watching me. i would've stopped, i would've ran to the bathroom and pondered finishing off to forget it all and go back to sleep, but a small smile fell on her lips and she threw her hips down on that drunk dick harder than she had been. his grunts grew deeper, and her chest heaved; her eyes still in mine. i became light. a dark light, hidden, invisible. and as i burst, every muscle fiber in my body tensing into the matter around me, her eyes became slits in taught canvas, the microscopic bulb still piercing my half-dead brain. she let out a melodic groan that waded through the room in deep tide.

i rested in the hallway, paralyzed, bargaining the distance between her door and my room. and, i finally made it, back into my bed, before i could really think about what happened and the discussion we would, surely, have in the morning.