Shims lay on the bed. He lit a cigarette, puffing to get it started. It’s red tip, glowing like a dragon’s eye, floating in a dark room. He exhaled, much like a volcano belching to life. Downstairs he could hear people laughing and the activity of the bar. He turned his eyes to the window in his dingy apartment above a rowdy bar and sighed.  At the edge of the bed, a silhouette of woman, darkened from the outside street light ran her hand through her hair. She flipped her head over her shoulder. Streams of tussled hair fell around her almond shaped face.

“Our love knows no boundaries now Shims,” she paused, “what are we going to tell him?”

“Him? I don’t know, but I know that I won’t step down. Not now, not ever.” Smoke hung thick over the bed, dancing in the space between them.

“We can’t go on meeting like this,” her voice trailed off as she turned to the window. “It was a joke, I never expected it to evolve into something like this.” 

Shims didn’t say a word. The mood in the room began to change, light a rubber band stretched too tight, from passion to tension.  He reached over for an ashtray and crushed the cigarette out.

“I don’t want this to end, FWOT,” he paused, “I need you.”

“Need me?” FWOT laughed, “No, you just need the money in my tip jar.” She stood up, her lithe body finally cutting the tension from the room.  He watched her put on bra and blouse, and slid up her dress. She adjusted herself in the dark and quickly brushed her hair back into a respectable arrangement.  When she was ready, she stood at the edge of Shims bed and like a panther hunting its prey, she slid her body across it and leaned into him.

“Thanks for the great time babe,” she said kissing him, “but I have to get back to the Sty. They’re waiting for me.”