Hollow-eyed, as if in a trance, not looking at Laura, Dawn went on in a very soft, barely audible voice."I wasn't supposed to go through there. It was a warehouse area... but it was quicker. There were these two guys, working on trucks, or tractors, or something. A black guy and a white guy. They came out of this garage and were watching me. They were all dirty and greasy but kind of muscular and good-looking too, you know? Wearing tee shirts, and you could see their muscles and stuff. They smiled at me, and I felt kind of good all over." You weren't scared?" Laura asked, a little alarmed by the story."I think I was, a little. But I was also kind of excited by it. They look me inside this garage... in the back, where there was this office. There was a cot in the corner with a dirty old mattress on it, and one of them pulled it down onto the floor while the other one was groping me and unbuttoning my sweater." Which one was doing that?" Laura asked, her voice hushed, shocked, her. Patterns signal the beginning of habits. Every work day for the next few weeks, we saw each other. When we were buying coffee. When we were crossing the street. When we were drinking our coffee. When we were steeling ourselves to face the day. We nodded to each other. We smiled at each other. We said, "Good morning." to each other as if that is the most profound utterance in the Universe. Not daring to say more. Monday mornings became something to look forward to. Weekend mornings became less joyfull. It was a good habit to begin. And then one beautiful Monday morning, she was sitting at my bench when I got there. My bench. Where I sat every workday easing myself into the idea of going to my job. Ramping up my dynamo with a dose of caffeine. I sat beside her. Not too close. Not so close that we couldn't both turn toward each other without touching our knees together. Perhaps both of us were thinking of how wonderful that would be. I remember that I was. "Hi. I'm Charles. Charlie. I.
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