silence. break it.
she sits around and twiddles her thumbs. she sits around and twiddles her thumbs. she sits around and thinks of the affair and wonders if she ever smelled her off him, some rank smell that escaped her noticed but was there mocking her and sitting in her chair scratching her thumbs she wonders if she’s smelling it now as he comes through the door after the rain, sopping wet from her, no-
she doesn’t sit around. she doesn’t sit around waiting for him. he’s waiting for her. long days engrossed with the children, the house, the bills, the mortgage, the car he never drives because she’s always taking it to work and leaving him stranded with all this responsibility. it was sensible, he was sensible. they got by on her alone. her alone and they were getting by with him alone and the children alone and the stray cat that crossed the street in the lonely night looking for vermin, no-
silence. break it.