I remember the other day I was heading to the community pool. It was a warm summer day, the first real day of summer, sweaty, hot, the air hung with the defeat of so many popsicle sticks.

Not having the key to the pool (my parents never received one and why go through the trouble?) I jumped the fence.

There were two boys, young. I ignored them but at the same time acknowledged their existence.

They were friendly, polite, moving to the side, giving me room to swim some laps.

But they were friendly to each other in an entirely different way. Their heads hung close together, their lips even closer, the splash of water increasing the strange flames that sparkled in their eyes and laughter and secret smiles.

I finished my laps. As I was jumping over the fence, returning to suburbia, plaster, the same five shades of paint on every house, I looked back and saw the two boys, entangled, playful yet purposeful, passionate.

Later, I found myself bathing in a tub of ice, numbing my entire body, feeling the need to not feel. A bag of Cheetos, already half-eaten, perched on the soap stand.

And I wondered why I always experienced such strange sexual exchanges.

But I am very tired very often.

Love and Peace