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I tried to be casual and walked slowly down the dim hallway, glancing at the posters on the doors of the other booths as I passed. I could feel myself flushed, both from the encounter I had just had in the booth I’d just stepped from, and the men watching me. They began slowly following now, still whispering among themselves. “Oh, what the hell,” I thought. I found a booth with an interesting video advertised on the door and stepped inside. As always, I left the door just slightly ajar. It wasn’t long before it opened again and revealed the same three men standing outside. “Would you like to join me?” I invited. “It’s going to be awful crowded.” “We thought you might join us,” one of them said. “My place isn’t far and it’s a lot more comfortable.” “And what would I be doing at your place?” I asked coyly. “Not what … but who! In fact, how ‘bout all three of us?” he replied with a very certain grin. I looked at the three men. It looked like a situation that could get very. Face brown from sun, hair -- olderthan me, let's let him have a bit of gray, and lines around his eyes.Make him handsome, make him not, I wasn't in the frame of mind to sayjust then.He slumped down in a chair, just looking beat. In the dim light, he wasa shadow, barely more. We sat, no more than a moment, perhaps, twoshadows in darkening room.Then he sighed, and stood, and stepped back into the kitchen. A clunkof pan on stove, hiss of butter melting. Creak of icebox door. Itwasn't like the way you sometimes let things clatter, make themclatter, on a chore you do not want to do, to make sure that someoneelse has got the message. It was just the sound of supper coming.Nothing more. He laid a plate before me, set his own down, and turned to relight thelamp. I couldn't meet his eyes."Fresh caught," he said. Or maybe asked.I stared down at the pink-fleshed fish, the green of wild onions on myplate."Fresh caught," he said again. "I know. Eat up, it'll get cold. Don'tworry."I ate, at first.
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