Sunday I’m in Yonkers with my friend Janet waiting for a bus to Janet’s parents apartment. Janet’s black hair, pale skin, dark set eyes and petite. A ballerina.
Janet and I go to her house and drop off our stuff. We head to wave hill, a park and botanical garden nearby and take pictures of the flowers. It’s hot and humid and we sit in the sun and then the shade.
“We could go to this sushi place in my neighborhood for dinner?” She says and picks at a mole on her arm.
“Sure that sounds good,” my body is hot and sweaty in all the places you’re not supposed to talk about in public.
At the sushi restaurant we both order seaweed salad with mango. Something you can’t get in Portland. The waiters hovered around us watching a baseball game on a big screen tv behind my head. There’s no sound. We shove the seaweed salad in our craws.
“So are there any other prospects?” Janet asked.
“Nada. The well has run dry,” I said.
“Anything on j-swipe for you?”
“No. Dean was it.” Dean the douche. “After he asked me if I could twerk that was it,” she shoved the last bit of seaweed in her mouth.