There are times when she knows why they’re together and it’s alright, even excellent, and times when she wished she didn’t. This morning is one of the times it all makes sense.
The room is foggy with cigarette smoke. She has opened the windows in the main room so oxygen can better circulate. He complains that he can smell the buses, wishes for flowers in their room. Lisa’s shoulders roll up and back; she is not offering sympathy although he thinks he needs it.
“It’s only eight o’clock. Do you have to storm the bedroom? Any coffee?”
“I know, I know, you didn’t sleep much. Neither did I. Yes, the lamp table with the clear space on it. Other side.”
“Right, the tidy side, good.” He reaches for the mug and exhales a thin stream of grey smoke before drinking.
“I left some oatmeal in the double…
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