Three kids played. She wore faded denim cutoffs; worn, blue oxford button down collar men's dress shirt; brown leather thong slippers. She was talking...to a neighbor housewife while they watched their kids.He kept that memory at night, as he prowled. He kept mental notes of who lived where.A year passed. He had gone to her house repeatedly at night; checking and listening.She had three children; one a girl, 2 — years old; a couple of boys in the range of 8 or so. Her husband was stationed. His hand kept reaching for his coffee mug, bringing it to his lips. But it was empty, and it had been for a while. It was a subconscious habit, more than for the want of a drink.She would get him a fresh cup soon, but for now, she had other plans. She had climbed into the shower as he was getting out after his. He had given her an absent-minded kiss before drying himself off. She had watched him then, too. Her body always stirred when he was close to her, and she couldn't help it. All her love. ‘Oxycodone,’ he nodded. ‘I know.’ ‘Come on then,’ she grinned, hopping off his lap. ‘Grab this.’ She handed him another guitar case, this one more slender though heavier. Darting away, she returned with a stuffed olive green soft bag with a shoulder strap she lifted onto his shoulder. ‘And this.’ ‘What’s going on?’ he asked. ‘A surprise,’ she smiled. They stopped at a Middle Eastern restaurant on a prominent corner in South Minneapolis. ‘Guard the stuff,’ she said before kissing him quickly and. Tom took a seat beside me, and ordered a rum, while I got a beer. We talked for a bit, even chatting it up with the bartender for a bit. Before we knew it, it was two in the morning and we were both hammered. Will had offered to drive us home, since the only thing he had drunk was some water and a soda. Will also had something with his wife pop up, her going into labor or something, and had to leave. That left Tom and I alone in my flat. We got there around three, and as soon as we got in, Tom.
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