They lie spread-eagled across the Garden. Not a word said. An uncomfortable silence now encompassing the soft land that they lay upon. Guttural moans and her arched body chaotically pivoted … twirled around like a discordant symphony.
“What do you usually do at this stage?”.
And suddenly, gravity kicked in. He probably should’ve told her that it was his first. I touch her. Her back still lay arched. Enough to still goad him. The sound of airplanes passing overhead now sewing together the coarse ends of a continuum.
He needed some time out. He got up and went back inside the palacial zone. Tanned bodies and palpable hollowness. Where does it all end? The sound of a spent DJ spinning his last track. Sweating profusely. The ching of his register spurring his intoxicated body on.
The guiding light was fading. Miles away, renderings of a similar nature. A cold front swept across a sultry evening, adding to the chaos. The DJ looked up ebulliently only to let a bead fall in adagio.
The guiding light was fading. With one last swig at a half empty bottle of Stolichnaya, he picked up his car keys and merged into some four leaf clover hoping to find his way home.
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