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Partially because I did not want my nosy neighbors seeing what was taking place and partially because I could, I refused to turn on a single light while Cotton retrieved the display. The young man did not question why it was totally dark in the house although I suspect he wondered why there were no night lights on, except for the lighted clock on the kitchen stove. I insisted that he remove the flowers before taking the display. This was something I could have done before he arrived but it was my whim to have him do it. After he stacked the flowers in a basket I walked backwards to guide him from the front room, along the hallway to the kitchen. I cautioned him constantly to take care and watch where he was going until we made the turn onto the porch where the path was wider. As we passed the freezer I remembered the roast that I needed for the next day. I had tried to reach it earlier but could not because the one I wanted was on the very bottom of the box. My son could have. Jesus they were loud. It took some time for my ears to go numb enough that I could enjoy it, but damn they were good. Raucous, loud, angry, the bass pulsing through my body made me feel like my internal organs were vibrating. But what really captivated me was the singer. She was amazing. Tall, slender, in jeans so tight they must have been painted on. She was wearing a designer-punk t-shirt that was slashed down the front so you could just make out the perfect flesh curves of her firm breasts in a black bra. Her skin was a beautiful olive brown, suggesting middle eastern heritage. I suddenly found myself lost in a fantasy of middle eastern princesses and harems. She was sexy as fuck while giving off a vibe that said “don’t you DARE fuck with me.” I raised myself on tiptoes and tried not to shout in Mark’s ear. “Can we go closer to the front?” He took my hand in his and led me through the crowd. I liked that. It was comforting, intimate, but not too creepy. As we made it to the throng.
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