When was the last time you took a long hard look in the mirror? I mean really looked into the mirror, not just at your reflection but at yourself. At your flaws. At your asymmetry. At your pores. At your grotesque gaping pores clogged with sweat and grime.

When was the last time you took a moment to breathe? Not the automatic muscular reflex that occurs, but you consciously taking an inhalation of air. When was the last time you paid attention to your breathing? Felt the air fill your lungs and swell your torso. Now you probably won’t be able to stop paying noticing each breathe until you get distracted and forget you were paying attention to it. Should be about 3 seconds from now when you stop reading this because it’s getting long winded and where is it even going anyway?

3 A.M. Thursday night or is it Friday morning and I’m trying so hard to remember her name. I don’t know if she ever said it to begin with or if we even spoke. Did we speak? Or did we just sort of stumble out at last call and whatever it doesn’t really matter. She’s a crutch, both literal and figurative. 3:15, backseat. What’s the appeal back here anyway it’s ****ing cramped. Oh there’s my favorite pen on the floor. Under her panties. Black. Lace. Boycut. When did that become a thing? Can guys where girl cut? She’s awfully wet. I mean, no lubricant will ever be purchased by this woman. ****, I can barely feel the inside of her its so wet. Or I’m numb. But no, seriously this is really, really wet. I kind of like it. I hope this won’t become a thing with me, because then, how do you screen girls for that? Oh hey, I know we just met but before we go any further I wanna know if your woman's genitals gets like extremely ****ing wet to the point that it’s really, I mean, you know, I know this sounds awkward but let’s cut to the chase, if we end up together I need to know you’re going to meet my expectations and really, I’m trying to save both of us the hbumle, you know? Oh man, thank god these are leather seats, I mean it’s running down my hip. Plus I really like the creaking sound of the leather. I can hear her grip the headrests tighter just as she begins to slow the circular motion of her hips and I feel contraction inside of her unfathomably moist woman's genitals. 4:18, I lost track of time. Did I even great times? I was so mesmerized by the, man I need to stop harping on that. Anyway… what? Oh right. Keys. Ignition. Headlights. Radio. Turn it off, ****ing hell. You ever listen to the radio at 4:18? Don’t bother. Driving home, the highway is empty. 5 lanes wide all to myself, and the occasional tractor trailer. The white dashes on the pavement look like a school of fish guiding me home. Black asphalt as dark as the ocean at night. Windows down. Cold crisp air rushing against my face. Hand on my knee what the **** oh she’s still here oh okay… what? Okay. 4:41, driveway. Headlights. Door. Shoes off now. **** I forgot that pen. Upstairs. Pants off. 900 thread count. You can’t count it don’t try. I tried. Twice.