Room With a View

The wind breathed fire, brushing invisible lounges of flame across her
face as she stood on the balcony and looked down at the highway.

The apartment was an expensive one, advertised especially for its
"beautiful view." In this case having a beautiful view meant it had a
very large window and a very large balcony that looked out over a busy
highway that led in and out of a busy city.

Her idea of a beautiful view would have involved trees and a lake and
maybe some mountains in the distance.

This was here though, and the apartment was nice.

She closed her eyes, turned her face toward the sun, let the dragon's
breath of summer blow across her sweaty brow, where it was almost
cool, almost a comfort.

"Well, what do you think?" the realtor said from behind her, in the bedroom.

"I hate the view." she said, then turned and walked back inside.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to slip his sensible
shoe on over his sensible brown sock. His toupee had come off and he
hadn't bothered to put it back on. The top of his bald head was red
from the exertion.

"And it smells like bad sex in here," she said. "Keep the panties. I
don't want them anymore."

She left him sitting there, his soft and pudgy face open in surprise
as she walked out of the apartment.

She took the stairs down, because no one ever took the stairs. Her
footsteps followed her down.

It was hot in here too. Hotter, because even the hot wind didn't
reach the inner caverns of the apartment building. There were no
small balconies with beautiful views of hurried commuters.

On the stairs that led from the 3rd floor to the second her sin caught
up with her.

He grabbed her arm, swung her around, screamed in her face. "You
bitch. You rotten, rotten bitch!" His eyes bulged out, his faced
turned an alarming shade of crimson. She could picture steam coming
out of his ears, his nose popping off like a pressure release valve.

She giggled.

He slapped her.

For a moment there was silence. They stared at each other, each
angry, aghast at what the other had done.

A door opened, closed. Footsteps approached.

"You left your hair in the bedroom" she told him, and turned her back again.

This time she made it outside without him and the dry heat wrapped its
arms around her like a willing lover, a sooting mother, a soul
cleansing sauna without the humidity.

She would cry later, while the children were doing their homework and
she cooked their supper. Her husband might would notice that the soup
was a little salty, but he wouldn't know why.

Eventually she would leave him.

"I looked at a very nice apartment," she would tell him. "I'm moving
out on Wednesday. I will do ever other week with the kids, if you
insist, but they better not mess up my place.

Yes, eventually she would leave him, when she finally found the perfect place.

Perhaps I'm using the wrong real estate agents, she thought. Maybe I
should use a woman next time.