It was a hot summer and the police had been raiding. Perhaps they were unhappy over receipts. The politicians were shouting, as at any election, and I felt persecuted. Perhaps that is what really caused the trouble. Standing alone in tight pants, which never fit me, under dim lights and watching others made me frightfully uncomfortable; whereas, John would stand about talking to groups very loudly. I think we were both very lonely. We never had friends over for tea.

That is why he went on the road. He wanted to be lonely in bars. When he drove off in our car, I could not remember what he looked like.

John took the car and I took Sandra and the furniture for the flat. My flat was so small that when Sandra used her litter pan I had to open the windows. It was better to take her out, and I often did, and we met a boy in the park and some old people, while walking. Sandra was a modest cat and had a lovely smile. In the park everyone had to be a block away when she was washing and even that worried her. But she had the loveliest smile and I walked her with a velvet harness and a leash.

Before he went, John, who was tall and had curly hair and a long delicate nose, stroked his moustache and caressed Sandra.

"You are a kitty-cat doll," he said.

Sandra did not like him. When he went out the door for good, she sat and smiled and smiled.

The boy I saw in the park was short. He looked innocent and had no moustache. Sandra liked him.

She had a way of closing her eyes as if adoring the Christ and purring all over. She smiled as the boy walked by and the boy said, "Hello."

Standing up, Sandra walked toward the boy as if she loved him. And he walked on by.

He wore a white shirt that was tight around his arms and showed his muscles and his chest, and his blue jeans were faded and seemed to mold about him. as he walked, the insides of his thighs rubbing slightly. I had no chance to say hello to him.

Trailing a remembrance of healthy boyishness after him, he sped away down the walk. Sandra and I watched him, and then she began washing herself. I continued to watch. I could not understand why he was so energetic, as if racing something unseen.

His legs and behind were well-shaped and muscular, the whiteness of the jeans attracting one's attention there, as the whiteness on a deer's behind draws the hunter's attention in the dusk of the wilderness at sunset when he has disturbed nature. The back of the boy's head seemed intelligent.

I decided to make his acquaintance and went back up to make supper. The next day Sandra and I waited a long time in the park. I think she picked up a flea.

As the sun went down over the ragged green trees and cast lights in the windows and shadows in the park where the children had stopped playing, Sandra began to wash as if for a visitor, and the boy walked by leaving a small rush of air and an ambience of desire I could not exactly define. I thought I would like to have him visit in the flat, and I imagined him in it with me.

It was delightful. I had a small sofa-bed, cozy for tea for two or more and an arabic tea table with a bronze tray surface. The boy was muscular with a suntan and sun-golden hair and he would look good there on the sofa-bed sitting and looking at me with those eyes I had never quite caught in a glance.

Sandra, of a gold and brown color, seemed very nice and somehow quite chic

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