The overcast fluid skies and thick air are stagnant in the early evening heat. Bodies drone onward towards home, their bags and shoes pounding with workday exhaustion. Silent murky steps hear the quiet subway cars beneath. Sitting with my feet clean and being painted, I look out onto the scene, gladly resting.
A phone call from a loved one interrupts the peace and my heart races. A happy conversation with my man is private among the women with the colors who can only hear my words. His voice is deep and comes from the chest. It is strong and suits his big build and scruffy beard. I can imagine his nuzzle on my chest, his reverberating mmm’s against my skin, and his manly hands grasping my slender waist.
I walk home in the stillness of Manhattan summer. Is this the voice I will call home to everyday to discuss what we’ll have for dinner?
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