mortal sin

She hooks up at last call. His name is Phil. That’s all she knows. That’s all she wants to know. They go to her place. She feels safer, there, even though he doesn’t seem the type who would slit her throat, though tomorrow, Rachel, her friend, her best friend, will tell her she was crazy. They do the requisite tango, then dance for real. After, she tells him to go, just like that. He seems confused, for he’s younger. “Can I see you, again,” he asks, and she just says, “No.” She cries when he’s gone, then drinks herself to sleep. When she wakes in the morning, still in her clothes, she remembers few details, only that she sinned, as she meant to. When she leaves for work, the doorman greets her as always: “G’morning, Mrs. G.” She doesn’t hear him, or at least acts as though she didn’t. Or couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.