u First, it was raining ...

If the rain knew how to go flakes like snow, I would say that it goes flakes. How else to call these heavy lead droplets, driving nails into the window sill and exploding in puddles, covering with wind rash all the asphalt skin of the old City ...

Secondly, there was a house in which there was a room in which there was a sofa on which She sat - naked, drunk and unhappy. And there was also a boy - also naked, drunk and unhappy. And my husband, somewhere else, dressed, drunk and miserable.

There was also a conversation shortly in which the pros and cons of the divorce were mentioned, in which the dots were dotted over A, in which permission was given to moderate, not beyond, a riot. And She, by habit of taking an umbrella, which should not be taken, went out in the rain.

Sin.

To save and save.

The boy got caught right away. Is it a long time to look for such boys, with a dick, at the ready, boys, with which any street in any city is full ... Of course not ... Not for long.

He stood at the bus stop. He asked for an umbrella. He smiled well, revealing a little pure soul and a lot of white teeth. And most importantly - he was the first counter. Q.E.D.

Omit formalities with the apartment, phone calls, buying wine and snacks. You yourself can tell about it better than me.

They were left alone, in an unfamiliar apartment for Her, not one of those rented out. They called for help from Joe Dassin, and he came, smiling cowboy zombies hiding in quiet columns. They drank wine, a lot, a bottle in one gulp, then the Boy ran down for one more, they drank it too.

And here they sit, naked, in a dark room full of quiet music and loud memories.

It is time for them to make love. It is time for him to start kissing her lips, breasts, stomach ... It is time for her to lie back, spread her legs and get what the email notification of Time has come to.

But he hesitates. And she thanks him for that.

And on the window sill everything is pounding and pounding rain. Bad rain. Zinc rain.

Zinc, Zinc, Zinc ...

He hugs her. She suddenly realizes that she is frozen in this alien room, and clings to his warm side. He kisses her on the lips, she responds in surprise, beginning to tremble from this, such a simple and so forgotten feeling ... New lips. New lover ... When was the last time? She smiles, he, feeling the tension of his lips, digs into them in order to return the escaped softness ...

She dissolves her lips, face, body — like an old sweater, pulling all the carefully thoughtful lies of the last years along a thread-nerve ... He, feeling her weakness, begins to fill her, like water — a hole in the hold, sinking the ship and claiming the sea .. .

She melts in his hands ... She allows you to do anything with yourself, but nothing, you hear, does not help her new owner ... She is not good and not bad. She is free and incomprehensible ...

Zinc, zinc, zinc rain ...

He kisses her breasts. In passing, she notes that this should be done softer, and a hard, sharp, patient tongue is needed in a completely different place, not here, but, not wanting to interfere with the sacrament that is happening, she is silent ... Her nipples are tense against their will - and weightless phantoms, painful memory spawns ... First a daughter, then a son - they torment her poor, darkened, cracked, not at all girlish nipple with their greedy gums ... She moves away in fear, and the boy freezes for a moment, not understanding anything ...

And in her eyes - white walls, coarse kind aunts-nurses, the first cry, pain, pain, pain ...

Zinc, Zinc, Zinc ...

And the husband outside the window is funny, clumsy, marking time in the snow, with bruises under his eyes after a sleepless night ...

The boy comes downstairs, he kisses her belly, and she, tuned in to another wave, responds with incomprehensible convulsions ... These bands, this is a huge ugly belly, this pain, tearing to pieces ... Whose is it? Who is her master, this pain? She is? Husband? Newborn child? ..

The boy goes further, he comes to his lips and kisses them - strongly, passionately ... She, floating out of habit, catches herself by the tail to stay here, with these memories, which suddenly became for her infinitely expensive ... But the boy knows his job, the tongue is hard and tireless, and already a finger loomed on the horizon with a pirate sail ... is looking for and finding its own harbors ...

Uniform katavasiya feelings ... It melts and burns, lumps in convulsion and spreads on the bed with ice cream ... It is cloying, sweet, painful, forgotten, incomprehensible, desirable, disgusting ...

Zinc, Zinc, Zinc ...

Suddenly she realizes that this is no longer a finger ... And he, the stone boy, hung over her mercilessly and tenderly, and moves to the beat of the song, spreading along the walls in shadows ... And she answers him, slowly, as in a dream ... but this is a dream ...

And the truth, poured into two neat piles, awaits her at home, where the husband and old friend are drinking bitter, remembering their youth before the arrival of those ... who ... who messed up ...

And yet reality is the dreams of two children on a two-story cot, below are color patterns, like in a kaleidoscope, above are boys and kisses ...

And she suddenly realizes that she has been released from that world only for a few minutes ... And, the more she wants to return, the stronger, in time, she responds to her accidental ... First comer ... Her rain ...

Zinc, zinc, zinc ...

She is already screaming, and the Boy is roaring after her, charging herself with forces that he does not know either a name or a number ... And a great, terrible free happiness bursts over them like a blown bulb, plunging all good and all bad into darkness. .. Just - everything.

Everything.

Then they dress in a hurry, like they are caught in a crime scene. And she is no longer torn. She knows where to go. She is going home. And he goes to the kitchen and drinks a glass of vodka ... One of those very glasses. Before the arrival of these ... Which ...

If the rain knew how to go flakes ... © Mr. Kiss, One Hundred Splinters of One Sense, 1998–1999