Weaving through traffic. The linear lights of the tunnel through blurred 
vision. The randomness of the perfume beside me mixed with the smells of 
summer. Traversing through the mountains countless times, always late dawn. 
The odor of sweat, cigarettes, alcohol and fresh, false, air conditioned 
air. Arrival much quicker than thought at departure. Stagger to the 
apartment lobby. The security guard, old man, nodding off in deep sleep. 
Waiting which surprisingly quickly passes. Am feeling lifeless and about to 
slip into drunken oblivion, when suddenly, like in the movies, when the 
camera moves further and further away from a character, most usually 
portraying death and the leaving of soul, the picture is sent careening back 
in quadruple speed to the aforementioned person, whomever actress of actor 
they may be, and you are privy to a cinematic resurrection. Another snatch 
of perfume. Bam! I awake. A moment of clarity. I realize my randiness knows 
no quarter. My sensual instincts take over. Octoman arrives with a jerk of 
Clark Kent speed and precision. Kungfu style fighting, my hands fondle and 
grope the soft lush body beside me, only to be parried and turned aside.

  Ding! The sound of the elevator's arrival. It lights the passageway of the 
darkened cement space we occupy. I see her for the first time in my clarity. 
The mirror encased ride to the sky reflects our projections. I laugh and 
cackle inside at the stranger looking back at me.

  We step inside to go for a ride. The tentacle reaches forward to press 
nine. I close my eyes. What's this? Suddenly I am consumed by Octowoman like 
hands. I yield without any fight.

  Ding! Ninth floor the bell sounds. The two stagger out the door. He 
reaches into his pockets, trying to find the single key which will open the 
door. Before they even pass the shoe mat, both will be in a state of 
half-undress. He digs his paw into the left front pocket. Thwarted by the 
ever elusive key. His right front pocket. Back left pocket, back right 
pocket. All the pockets full of money and change. It is difficult to make 
out a single, lone, silver key amidst such disorder. Finally, the left 
breast pocket, hidden among a few rumpled bills, lies the key. A few more 
seconds to see the key hole in the darkened hallway. Keys fit into their 
holes so tightly and precisely. Inflamed thoughts race as a lighter is lit; 
to guide the way. The metallic sensual sound of the key sliding into place. 
The groan of the locking mechanism clicking open. Inside, it is as 
predicted, before they hit the floor, amazingly half-undressed. All kinds of 
acts are performed together, to one, then the other. Just the usual fucking, 
I suppose. Satiated, the two fall asleep on the bare and cool floor.

  Awakened by the flooding sunshine and dried throat. Bam! Boom! cries the 
head of no returns. The girl beside him is gone. Maybe he dreamed her away 
somehow. Only a faint scent of her remains, permeating his senses.

  Drunken with her, he thinks, "You linger far too long even when you're 
gone. What was your name? Did you know my name? Maybe I'll see you again. If 
not, in another form, in another body, we'll meet, you and I. You me, and me 
you. We're the professionals of this sport. Weekend meeting and fucking."

  The used, sperm filled, rubber, 50 cent, beaded, colored, condoms lie 
strewn across the floor. A record of last night. Turn the boiler on to take 
a shower.

  The routine, ordered, regimented schedule which is called my life. Today 
is Sunday. A day to kill. A day to rest and recuperate. Another week of 
work. Another happy and forgotten weekend written off the mirror of my life, 
three more till payday.