Plate in hand, Trish sniffs perfume — someone else’s.
Sneaking shower-ward, Jerry catches a clue, tries a smile.
Trish’s narrowed eyes detect rumpled hair and untucked shirt.
Trish makes up her mind, grabs her bag.
Trish walks out — resolution kept.
Fuck him and them black-eyed peas.
Photo by Deon Black on Unsplash
Originally published in The Bad Influence