Nothing says home like boredom – Molly Gaudry

Nothing says home like boredom, stammered Faith, who felt ill because she had eaten too many donuts before their date. Truck said nothing but, as he ate a rib, retained something of that absorbing blue country out beyond, something prime like a weekend kiss in a field. Nurse, wear a dress, he’d said, I’m taking you to the Big Escape and to Another for martinis afterward. After what seemed like having endless sparkly kiss to eat, each had a thought: (hers) must go out, or home, where you can think and sit still; (his) you are here for her, do you know how? Now, packed into his pickup, she says, I’m down for occasional lessons. Right on, he says, except one or other of these days you’re going to need to go out for some errand and because you can’t drive you’ll be stuck at home. No one wears jeans, she thinks, like he does. She could kiss him for decades.

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