Len

He wrote, “I’ll leave the door open.”
I drove imagining risky scenes.
Room 204, door ajar, stifling heat. On the bed his athletic socked feet extended beyond the corner wall.
Useless worries.
After a few minutes, he roused, muttered, and we continued amidst occasional phrases in the stuffy room.
Afterward, still in the dark, we chatted, naked and satisfied, then parted, with plans to reconnect.
Who knows?
I do.
We didn’t.