Out of the shower and all but dry, I happen to go to the window and see her walking along the lane—that pretty lady from around the corner. Oh, she is so beautiful! I can’t help it—I have to imagine her naked. I can’t help it—I have to touch myself. Not too much—I don’t want to have to take another shower so soon. But I almost can’t control myself.

The lady has something in her hand. I can’t quite make it out. Something small and blue. And thinking about what it might be forestalls my urgency somewhat.

But then I see the lady has stopped her stroll and is looking up at my window. At me? Surely from that angle she can’t see what I’m up to. But it’s as if our eyes have locked upon each other. How long could this last?

And then she approaches my door, and I hear the rap. Now what do I do? She knocks again. I fasten the towel about my waist and go down. Cautiously I open the door.

In her hands she holds a small blue bird. “Here,” she says, holding it out. Offering it. “Something for you to care for.” She folds it into my palms. Warm and fluttery. And my towel starts to fall. And when I try to catch it, the bird takes off—shoots into the blinding sunshine. And my towel falls irrevocably to the floor.