He handed her some change through the drive-through window; the brief touch of skin rashing sensations. He was vibrating in his mother’s car.
She turned for a moment to play with the cash-register, and he imagined her body through the unimaginative, beige uniform.
“I’m older than I look.”
“What?" he checked to see if she was alone; the boy, her co-worker, was at the counter inside, serving someone else, "How old are you?”
“Nineteen.”
“Oh, wow, you look so much younger.”
“Yeah I know; that’s why I said something.” And she smiled at him; it was happiness. They were both pleased to meet; their eyes sharing a loop of attraction; a mirror on a mirror; a boundless feeling, where generations travel.
“I can’t be more than three minutes here.” And she pointed to the red-bulbed numbers counting upward. “They time me.”
“Oh…”
“I finish at eleven.”
“Ok.”
“Ok. Have a nice day.” She handed him the coffee and cookies. Their hands felt vibrated, and then the window closed, and the car regrouped itself.
By eleven seventeen he found a dark spot in a super-market’s parking-lot for them to “park." The windows were rolled up and the green battery light blinked steadily. He lasted exactly three minutes. She said: “How relevant; I bet I’m pregnant.” And they vibrated together, in his mother's car.
