Lo-Fi

A warm, salt-water breeze moves in through the open picture window, carrying with it peach light from the setting sun. His cozy studio flat turns red, orange, and amber – even the plants that hang from the corner of the room shift their hues – the pedals of the paperwhite now magnificently gold. The old vinyl spins steadily at the foot of the double bed, blanketing us with its easy, calming tune. 

We’re both sitting up in bed, facing each other, leaning against the windowsill at our side. Our feet are tangled together underneath the blankets. I feel his warm, honey thighs with mine. He shows me how to blow smoke rings out the window, then hands me the joint to try.

My smoke rings fail to form, they collapse onto themselves – now just shapeless plumes of pungent sweetness rising up into the dusk air. He laughs, I laugh – feeling my vision simultaneously soften his surroundings, and sharpen on him. We continue like this for a while – trading drags – trading kisses – casting shadows in the sun's mess.

I take his hand. His skin is soft and golden – it makes my pink knuckles look raw and animal. I play with his fingers – why are these the best fingers I’ve ever seen?

“Oh my God,” I say.

“What?” he says, his voice warm.

“Your fingers…”

“What about them?”

“They are like mini-arms…coming out of your big arm.”

He laughs.

“You’re like a tree, basically.”

We nudge closer to each other – our thighs linking. I feel his breath – I breathe it in – blood rushes to my head. We’re one body. I could do this forever.

“I know how to sneeze on command,” I say.

“You do?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“How what?” I ask.

“How do you sneeze on command?”

“Oh…” I laugh, “I forgot what we were talking about. Wait, what were we talking about?”

He leans back, overcome with laughter.

“What’s so funny?” I ask.

“Tell me how you sneeze on command.”

“Oh, easy…” I reach out to touch his nose. “There’s a little spot here,” I say. “A soft spot between your bone and cartilage.” I try to find it, softly probing the bridge of his nose. His gold ring glints. It looks perfect there.

“If you stimulate the spot by pressing down on it, you sneeze.”

I continue pressing his nose. He doesn’t sneeze. I keep pressing, this time faster. “It’s like your nasal g-spot…it needs to be coaxed,” I say. But still, he doesn’t sneeze. I try to do it on myself. That doesn’t work either.

“And how effective is this trick, normally?”

“I think it’s not working because we’re high,” I explain.

He grins. “I’m sure that’s it.”

We continue like this for some time – talking about shit – philosophizing in the fresh summer air – working through the pile of condoms on the floor. The sunset seems like it might last forever. I wish it would…