Pac Man takes the trash out after dinner. The neighborhood is quiet, the same. He stands there in his driveway and out comes Mrs. Bottle Pop, she smiles and waves with her slim cigarette in hand. Her dark skin, immaculately smooth and fragranced by dish-soap and sweat.
"You smell nice Sandy."
"Oh, thanks hon. I can't imagine that I would, after chasing those monsters to sleep." She indicates the house behind her.
"Yea." Pac man tries to pretend he's interested. His mind has already given up on the conversation. Mrs. Bottle Pop senses his eyes tracing her.
"I saw when you pulled up this afternoon, you seemed a bit distraught hon, everything alright?"
He wanted to say "no," but, "no less than any other day" was what become of the idea.
They shortly returned, each to their steps and up to their houses, in bed with their spouses as the same night closed them off from any further activity until the merciful sun arose the following day.
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