Compared to the first time I was here, it’s pretty clean. There’s no smoke wafting through the air, no beer bottles littering the table. Actually, I didn’t even know they had a kitchen table. It was hard for me to find any furniture that night. I check out the area as I wipe my feet off. In the silence and light, Macsen’s apartment seems average. Macsen steps in behind me and shuts the door. It’s still raining outside. I drape my jacket over a kitchen chair and drop my leather bag to the floor. Macsen is leaning against the door, bending down to untie the filthiest pair of boots I’ve ever seen. I stop watching his hands and watch his arms. They flex and bunch as he moves. I lean back in my chair and keep my eyes on him. It feels like a fetish, to have the urge to look at someone this much. The urge never leaves. I still want to attack him like an animal. He stands up and I pretend that I haven’t been watching him for the past minute.
