Our Daily Bread
“The smell of coffee and the radio news ascended from the kitchen. He pulled on sweatpants and went to the bathroom. His penis was sore and the sensation made him smile. Such a good sore. He hoped she was limping. He wanted a mark on her and was not, for once, ashamed of this desire. He felt, albeit with a semi-sheepish self-awareness, as though he wanted to strut, wanted to throw out his chest and tuck his thumbs in his pants. He flushed the toilet, brushed his teeth and washed his face, rubbin...g his hand over stubble, which he decided he wouldn’t bother to shave. Not today.
When he came into the kitchen, he was surprised to find Patty sitting at the table, a coffee cup between her hands, a bare foot tucked up underneath her, staring intently into the black liquid. He had, he realized, expected to find her humming, dancing, ready to spring into his arms.
“Hey, beautiful,” he said.
She smiled. Warm, but not the smile for which he had hoped.MoreLess
When he came into the kitchen, he was surprised to find Patty sitting at the table, a coffee cup between her hands, a bare foot tucked up underneath her, staring intently into the black liquid. He had, he realized, expected to find her humming, dancing, ready to spring into his arms.
“Hey, beautiful,” he said.
She smiled. Warm, but not the smile for which he had hoped.MoreLess
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