I don’t like to listen to people who speak at tables next to mine.
That is a lie.
Well, I don’t try to listen to people who speak at tables next to mine.
Wait–no, that is also a lie.
At the very least, I have a bad memory. But, some conversations I hear and they just can’t help but stick around; a mosquito in my bedroom as I try to sleep.
“It is wrong,” the man said.
The woman sitting beside him held his arm. She said something too soft for me to hear. She was wearing a nice dress. They were both older, both had thick accents.
“If a woman sits on a seat and then gets up, it is warm,” the man continued. “So, a man should not sit on that seat. He should wait ten minutes.”
It was at this moment, I knew I was not going to stop listening. I leaned closer.
“Why?” the woman cooed.
“Well, because he can feel the woman’s heat. From her body. That is sexual, far too sexual.”
I openly stared at this point, neither seemed concerned with anything but each other. The woman stroked the man’s arm, a big hairy one.
“So, he broke the rules,” the man said, with authority.
I waited. Nothing followed. They pet each other and drank wine. Finally, I stood up.
“What?” I cried. “I’m sorry, but–what!”
They looked up at me, wide eyed. The woman held the man tighter. He stood up. I backed away a little, he was a big man. He held out his hand to the woman, she stood, looking back at her warm seat, worried.
The man patted her hand and said “it’s no bother, no bother.”
He led her away. As they went she kept looking back from me to her warm, sexual seat, over and over till they rounded a bend.
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