Before you leave for the office, you walk towards the bedroom window, naked, the light swallowing you. You hold your breath for a few seconds, letting your eyes adjust to the blinding light, sensing the suspense build. Is anyone watching from their cars on the bridge not far away, or from a closed window of the building across that is deceptively dark? The anticipation is excruciating. You turn and stare at the stranger in the bed. It’s her room and she is asleep.

Is anyone willing to notice you standing at the window? Will someone you love, on another day, equally bright, be sitting in a car on the bridge across and waiting for a nude man to emerge at the window?

It’s time to go.

Outside the door when you enter the lift it feels cold, perhaps it is the spent libido, you imagine, the heat that has been dissipated, the calories spent.

*

You return to your house and peek into the other room where your wife is sleeping. A used condom on the bedside table catches your eye. You look at her face, in sleep she looks happy, as if the man who fucked her while you were away, has fulfilled her dream to be in love. Is she doing this for money? You don’t remember giving her any in the last six months. You dig into your pocket and pull out the wad of notes the woman you visited had refused.

There is no space on the bedside table: napkins, lipstick tray, books and the spent condom. You place the wad on the condom and are happy as the money hides it. Money, you smile, what all it can hide, or find for that matter.

*

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