“She didn’t always have good taste or she never would have come anywhere near either of us two mooks,” Chuck reminded me.
I knew if I mentioned sexual intercourse– she’d be gone.
Even if I mentioned marriage, and then sexual intercourse– she’d be gone.
The only thing women wanted was marriage. Sarah was a woman. Therefore she wanted marriage.
Maybe not with me?
I would hate to call her ethereal. Would I want to call her “ether”– meaning “Esthar”? Meaning star light, star bright, or bliss as an extremely delicate and light in a way that seems too perfect for this world:”her ethereal beauty”
Ethereal would imply anorexia nervosa. I said no to that, because I would
Chuck was much uglier than I, plus, Chuck was what I would call “reverse-ethereal”, or “inverse-ethereal”, or “perverse-ethereal.”
Sometimes we’d get in the car and drive anywhere. We’d drive to anywhere. It always went perfectly. We didn’t think of gas mileage, or exhaust. There was this magic. There was still magic. Magic, the sacred, the profane, the anchorite, the ascetic, the ascending. It is fun. It was my car, and I had bought it with earnings from working in the corner grocery store, after
We never got her measurements.
Spam of Human Affection 
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