In a sexually charged act that I had not seen before and have not seen since, you gripped my hand and pulled me around a corner at the bus depot. People walked by like autumn leaves flying aimlessly on a tree-lined suburban street. You stopped when we were just out of sight of the last person we had seen. In the quiet cube of air we inhabited when we turned the corner, you pulled your dress and white panties down. Seconds, inches and a wayward glance away from discovery you were suddenly naked from the waist down. Never pulling your gaze from my face, you lay on the cold ground, grabbed your ankles and pulled them towards your neck -- just for a moment. Then, without a word, you stood up; put your dress back on and placed your hand on the crease of my zipper. Had someone seen? More nervous than you, I glanced around. I would have sworn the homeless guy sipping from the slim brown paper bag was a witness. Though he hadn't been there a minute ago, he was there now. He sat on the edge of a concrete planter and stared our way. If he saw, he didn't let on. He took another sip and looked away.
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