I sit in the shower with the heat turned up so high that the steam makes it hard to breathe. The mist spirals out of a small, sliding window high up on the wall. It must rise into the night like smoke from a 19th century train
I wonder what people walking by think.
“He’s a steam punk enthusiast,” a girlfriend says to her boyfriends as she points at the window. “He’s in there with red tented goggles and a dark leather lab coat. He’s trying to build an automaton to do his laundry.”
“If he’s really good,” the boyfriend replies, pulling the girlfriend closer, “it’ll do the dishes too.”
A car streaks by. It makes the girlfriends long shirt billow. The girlfriend scrunches up her nose and pecks him with a kiss. “Tonight’s your night.”
The boyfriend smiles. “I know.”
I don’t see any of this, obviously. Not only is the window…
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