Little Puddles on Smooth Streets

"...Orion, the devil...."

Feeling like a child, Jerome stared at the black streaks across his vision, and the pale background that was his ceiling. He didn't move, but replied, "It's only a group of stars. I doubt they care at all about snatching up human souls."

"No, Orion, your dog. He just pissed all over the kitchen floor."

"Did he get the plant in the corner?"

Silence. Jerome didn't move, imagined he was invisible as long as he stayed frozen in bed, not even moving his eyes. Then the quick patter of delicate feet, the quick run that only a young woman can manage.

The bed sunk deep as Camille came down upon him, so much so he almost lost sight of the outside, after which he was sure he would sink all the way to China. Then his newly awakened body communicated the feeling of her on him, of her soft cheek against his stubble. Using the small push up that the springs tried to manage, Jerome twisted them both to the right, catching hold of both her wrists and raising himself up.

"A complete reversal of fortune, it seems, for now you are the one in the comfy bed, and I have to get ready for work!"

She notched her head to the side, watching him with smirking eyes. He went slack and lay back on his knees. "Shit."

Bursting into laughter, she tried to fight his grip as he bent back down to kiss her and then dismissed the scene in favor of the bathroom. He showered, shaved, brushed, deodorized, sanitized, and emerged with all sorts of clean flavors wafting off his shoulders. Camille was still in the kitchen, and he almost ran into her as he turned the corner, stopping right where carpet meets tile. 

"May I enter?" She said nothing and inserted a dry piece of toast into him mouth. He stood mock-puzzled, shrugged his shoulders, and went for his black peacoat, putting it on in one quick swoop around his shoulders. He opened the door, and looked back to see Camille expecting some sort of goodbye for the day. "Mmm-mm-m-mmm-mm"

"I'm sorry?"

He took a bite and held the remainder of the slice, "You have a sweet ass."

"Love you too, darling."

"You seem to have trouble following my conversations. We'll talk about it in therapy. Bye"

The toast was gone by the time Jerome reached the elevator, and he selfishly spent the entire ride down enjoying his therapy joke. They weren't really in therapy, Camille said that the day they needed it, she would just pay another man two hundred dollars an hour for a divorce instead. She was very fiscal. Outside, he looked back up at their apartment. It has just one ornament visible from the street, a bright yellow fake sunflower twisted around the balcony. He blew the flower a kiss, flipped up his collar, and started down the street. 

---

He stared at the black streaks across his vision, and the pale background that was his ceiling. Eventually he got up, showered, dressed, looked to see if there was anything of dire importance on the news (it would be horrible to get to work and find out you've missed a natural disaster, wouldn't it?), grabbed his peacoat and headed downstairs. Outside he looked at the surrounding buildings, and felt a pinch somewhere when he thought he saw a fake sunflower, way up high. Squinting, he determined it was actually one of the plastic apparatuses that spin interestingly in the wind. He laughed aloud, catching the eye of the man hidden inside the magazine kiosk. He didn't usually remember dreams that well, but then again, who could forget a Camille? Especially one like that. He let out one of those long, walking sighs that no one can hear outside, and allowed himself only a brief  few seconds to feel the real pain of only having a taste of things, then he walked on. He would name his first kid Noah.

(Sometimes we're just tired, God bless)