Borrowing

The distant sound of chaos
A white-noise quietly rising from far off in the city
Different from before
Concussive sounds of the city being shattered
She stops
Raises a hand to place against the wall of the building by her side
He stops
Looks at her
She raises her other arm to her stomach
He turns his head
Looks at the city around him
Untouched
Then walks

When he returns he finds her sitting on the pavement
Leaning against the wall
Both forearms wrapped lightly about her midriff
— Do you want to go inside?
— What?
Quiet
He twists to look behind him
— There are empty rooms.
She looks past the man
The woman applies force with her calves
Knees
Back against the wall
One hand out to steady herself
She stands
Clutches again at her stomach
Begins to walk
Footfalls slightly irregular
A scrape and a shuffle at random among her steps
He turns and walks
Pacing her
Slow movement

— Not this one.
Noise comes from next door
The low, pulsing of muffled speech from a television
Constant
He turns his head to look at the door of the previous apartment
— Leave it.
She continues to walk
He steps slowly behind her
The muted noise of the television disappears as they continue
One hand out to the wall to steady herself
It pushes against a door
Moves back with the smallest of cracking sounds from the hinges
Then smooth, silent, giving movement
She stops
The man approaches the door
Pushes it aside
Her hand moves to the door-jamb
She watches him as he enters the apartment
Stops in the centre
Head slowly panning
Turn on one foot
Shift weight
Move to the kitchen
Stop
Turn
Move through the living-space to the doors and rooms
Disappearing in the hall
His footsteps strike a short reverberation through the space
Step
Step
Pause
The ruffling of his clothing as he moves
Becoming more faint
Almost silent
She steps into the apartment
Walks slowly to the couch in the living space
Sets herself down
Lies with her head resting on a cushion
Legs slightly pulled towards her body

He sits on the floor
Leaning against an armchair on the opposite side of the couch
Watching her breathe
Her small breasts rise
Pause
Fall
Pause
Eyes closed
Her mouth opens
Exhale
Closes
He gets up
Goes to the kitchen
Stops
Pans his head
Opens a cupboard door
Observes
Closes
Opens the next door
Closes
Moves slowly along the edge of the kitchen
Examining all storage spaces
The shapes of objects contained within
Opens another
Glasses
He reaches out and touches one
Cold
Wraps his fingers around it
Lifts
Turns it so that the open mouth faces up
Steps to the sink
Reaches with the other hand
Rotates the tap
Water strikes the base of the glass
When it is full he withdraws it
Water striking the metal surface of the sink
Rotates the tap
Silence
A pattern of water on the surface of the sink
Some slowly disappearing into the drain
Blink
He turns
Walks to the woman on the couch
She hears his movements
Opens her eyes
Looking at the glass in his hand
Lowers one elbow from her midriff to the couch
Pushing herself up
Shifting the weight of her body until she sits
Stares at the man
At his face
The shape of his mouth
Line of his nose
Unblinking eyes
He moves his arm slightly towards her
She takes the glass
Inhale
Exhale
Inhale
Raises it to her lips
Cool liquid sliding down into her sternum as her throat becomes cold
She stops
Cradles the glass with both hands
— I can’t sleep.
A neutral tone
She turns her head to the side
A window
The last light of day
The horizon a darkened cloud of swirling dust
Turns back to the man
Tilts her head back slightly to look up at him where he stands
Opens her mouth
Closes
He blinks
Lowers himself to the carpet
Sits
Then he inhales and speaks
Somewhere we used to drive
Together through the winter
And in the spring
Go to the coast
Up into the mountains
The rolling hills of the pasture-lands
In the spring late in the day
The skies darkened in thick grey
We drove back into the city
Storms chasing us
At the lights we compress
Then spread out again as we moved
I remember her hand on my neck as I drove
Lips touching my shoulder
Taking turns to drive
Coming to my door in the middle of the night
Rushing out without a bag
Driving to the country
And at the end of exhaustion, her closeness and sweat
The smell of my penis when I was aroused
Exhales that forced a sound from her throat
And her long groan as she threw herself to lie back on the bed
Arms about her head
Arching her back and pressing herself up against my fingers
The closeness of my eyes to her
Vision filled with her mouth and jaw
Teeth biting at her lip
Drawing in air through her nose
Her voice singing a thousand songs in the car
Loudly through the rain
Staring out at the people of the city
Bending down to lift an orange leaf from the ground in autumn
Bringing it back to the car
He stops
Looks at her
She looks at him
Inhales
— Now I definitely can’t sleep.