Eleven fifty-eight:
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.

Eleven fifty-nine:
Trish makes up her mind, grabs her bag.

Midnight: 
Trish walks out — resolution kept. 
Fuck him and them black-eyed peas.

© Copyright 2021 by Jim Latham
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Photo by Deon Black on Unsplash

Originally published in The Bad Influence