There’s coffee, you say to the man in a louder voice. You want to get the ball rolling.
You imagine yourself enjoying a quiet morning once the man has left, staying in your t-shirt until the late afternoon, and then who knows.
Maybe dinner in front of the TV. Maybe a stop by the bar. It all seems like years in the future.
You are pleased at the thought. The man starts playing with himself. The man is left-handed and this fact seems to render the man special somehow.
You think the words Handicapped, Disabled, Special. No one in your family is left-handed.
You realize that maybe you’ve only ever encountered left-handed people on the TV. Don’t drink coffee, the man says.
I drink something else, and there’s that hole in the gums again, he has apparently said something suggestive to you but you’re having trouble picturing exactly what he means.
You realize if he closed his mouth and his eyes you’d probably give him another go, due to that left-handedness.
And maybe you’ve said that last thing out loud because his eyes snap shut and he purses his lips, his tongue roving around, but maybe that’s just his usual masturbating face.
That hand gets faster, the flesh at his belly shuddering.