Fibonaccis Window

Six eighty seven. Six eighty eight. Six eighty –

"Hi, Jonas."

- nine. Fuck it. I hate when she does that. I mean, I like her, but goddamn it.

"Hi Shelley." Five forty-five. I can see the clock behind, ten, maybe ten and half inches across the face. Paper. Bread. 1538 Market. 1.79 a loaf.

"Your usual?" I nod. She's back there. 64, 65 inches up. 30 inch waist. Weird dimensions. Big tits. Thirty-five, forty cubic inches each in those babies. Goddamn it, they're mighty fine. Figure sucking on a couple of them.

Evening Standard. 75 cents. A dollar down, E58934738, change. 25 cents. 25%. .25 in the dollar.

Fuck it. Fuck you. Like I can help it.

Shelley smiles. She's got poodley hair, three, three and a half circles every two inches. Sort of a melting woman. Soft. Hundred fifty pounds maybe. Hard to tell in that cardigan. $16.75 at Harteman's this weekend only. I saw the flier.

She puts coffee in my hand. She's nice that way. Coffee. 1.25 dollar twenty-five in my pocket –

She stops my hand. I like it when she does that. Touches me.

"It's OK, Jonas," she says. Soft. Kinda husky.

I can't really smile. Fuck knows I want to, but there's these pigeons, six, seven overhead, wheeling, and then it's five, then seven, then six, because the top of the newsstand keeps cutting them off. I never know how many are coming back. Five. Seven. Eight.

"Jonas."

Four. What the fuck? But I really like her.

"Shelley." I kinda-smile. I'm tryin', goddamn it. She more-smiles back. Like, brighter. It's good.

Eight. Thank fuck. Five. Seven. She's looking at me.

"You're late today."

Five forty-seven. Yeah. Bread closes at six. Thirteen minutes. 87 bus was out. 35, then the 23, ten, fifteen stops. Way too many.

I look up at her. Seven. She's waiting.

"Yeah," I mumble. "Bus was out."

"I get off at six."

Six. Five. No, six. Clock. Not pigeons. Whathefuck?

"Oh. Yeah? You, uh, ... wanna walk home?" She's nice. Big-titted. Soft. Cute. I like her.

"Yeah. That'd be nice."

Smiles. Fuck, where'd the pigeons go? I go look. Twelve and a half minutes. She hands in her apron. We walk.

I can't talk. Forty-seven. Forty-eight. She's good about it. Like, she tries once or twice, but she stops. Not mad-stops, like "fuck you I was tryin' to talk to you," but sort of ... nice-stops. Four hundred twenty-two and right. That's the lobby. We stop.  My place. Fuckin' wind-up toy. I don't know her place. Could be a lot of steps. Maybe a bus. 123 or the 17, this time of night; number 5 to the Gardens, maybe. I don't know where to take her.

"Sorry." I'm fucking up. But she kinda ... I dunno. I just don't care about the fucking pigeons, you know? She sort of smiles.

"You want me to come up?" She asks it maybe-yes. I nod. It's yes. Fucking ... yeah. Yeah, you come up.

Four flights. I hate elevators. The stairs all have eleven but the last has twelve. She's tired. Nice, though. No complaints. I like that about her. I mean, I'm not ... you know. And she doesn't give me a bunch of shit. She's panting – twenty-five, twenty-six breaths a minute, getting' up that last set. I feel bad. I take her hand, 'cause she's draggin' herself up the rail. She smiles. Fuckin' ace. She's catchin' her breath. I'm touchin' her hand. It's kinda ... hot.

Three doors. My place. The door's hardly shut and we're up against it. Kissing. Tasting. Shelley. My hands slide up under her cardigan, $16.75, Harteman's, this weekend only, and then I feel her stiff nips poking into my palms and oh, like I fucking care. Goddamn, it's good. Warm. Soft. She's got to be more like 165 but fuck it's good.

It goes fast. Frantic hungry sucking at tongues; her big tits cramming against my mouth; then she's zipping at me, fuck,

fuck

, it's six-oh-eight, I fucking swear, I can see the clock on the oven, and she's sliding down me. Don't stop, thirty-seven years I swear no one has ever

yes

5.26 inches it ain't fuckin' much but

unh

! Her lips close and she's smiling and I crack my head on the door as my body jerks and my spine twitches and

fuck

.

I worry for like a half a second about lasting. Then she smiles up at me. It's fucking perfect. You don't know how much I love this woman.

It comes. Oh, fuck, it comes.

We slide down. Fuck if I know where I am. I like her, though. I want to tell her but I'd just fuck it up. Maybe she knows. She curls up against me and I touch her. Warm. Close. It's fucking amazing.

It's hours before I know what time it is.