What Am I Going To Do With You

What time did you get in last night? she asked as she poured coffee for herself. He lit up a cigarette. Placed the match in the ashtray. I said, what time did you get in last night? His wrinkled lips took in a drag. Finger tips had burn marks on them. I’ll tell you what time you got in, she pulled a chair out from the table and had a seat. Heard the dog barking around two. I know it was two ’cause I looked over at the clock. Then I heard the door open. Heard you stumbling around. Jingling your keys. Tripping over the door mat. You tracked mud on the floor, she said.

Sorry ’bout that.

Whatever. I’ll clean it up. Just part of what I do ’round here, she stirred her coffee. You think there’s ever going to be a time when you don’t go out? You stay home? You’re out every night of the week. Always coming home at odd hours.

I get off at eleven. I like to wind down.

You like to get drunk is what you like to do. I’ve heard stories. Heard about how you flirt with girls half your age. Making a fool of yourself is what you’re doing.

I do no such thing, he said with a grin. I do no such thing. They come on to me. I don’t go after them.

Must be your astonishing good looks. Or, your charm, she got up and sat in his lap. Placed her arms around his neck. What am I going to do with you? he shrugged his shoulders. What am I going to do with you?


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