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By Root 820 0

on their nail, and snow drifting down outside. On his bookshelf: board games like Monopoly and Clue, relay batons from his track team, and busted video cartridges, dead Super Mario circuits and dead Ninja Warriors likewise. And right over there, up above us, located on the wall, was a crucified bronze Jesus I didn’t want to ask about, what he was doing there or anything. I was lying snug under the covers one day with my hand peacefully on Oscar’s dick, you know, holding it, it being only half-awake, similar to Oscar himself, ’cause we’d already done our lovemaking a couple times, and he, Oscar, was talkin’ about the future.

“I have this image,” he said.

“What image?”

“You know how people when they’re ultra-rich, they’ve got front hallways?”

I said yeah.

“There’s a name for it.”

“For what?”

He lowered himself down in bed and kissed me, a little tongue and lip thing, on my nipple. His tongue stud gave it, I don’t know, metallic content. Next to the bed we had acquired a bowl of popcorn that we microwaved a little while ago. When he kissed me, he tasted inside his mouth of buttered popcorn. Sometimes burned popcorn. It was like he was cooking snacks in there. My nipples stood up, it was almost painful.

“They’ve got a name for that, that room inside the front door. Where they put the big grandfather clocks and shit. You know. Also those things they put the umbrellas into.”

“Like, the foyer?”

“Fucking A.” He nodded. “The foyer.” He was so pleased with himself or with me, he woke up utterly and got a boomer Woodrow immediately. It lifted my hand up. His dick is like a human barometer that way. I started to go down on him but he said, “No, no, wait.” He put his fingers on my face and drew it up back to the pillow. His woody didn’t get discouraged. It stayed nestled in my girl-grip, and I could feel his heart beat through it. “See, here I am, comin’ home. Here’s Oscar. Oscar-of-the-future.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, you gotta imagine this. Okay? Here I am, Oscar, and I’m comin’ home.”

“All right. You’re comin’ home. I’m imagining it.”

“Right. From what am I coming home? From whatever shit it is that I do. From my work.”

“Okay.”

“It’s, like, the end of the day. Quitting time. Factory whistles are blowing. And I’m comin’ home. Right? And in my truck, I’ve run into a detour which takes me around that new drive-in bank and this pond where the ducks have already flown south and that mini-mall and the multiplex. I’m just drivin’, my hands on the wheel. And I’m like, I don’t care about this detour. I am not bummed. We’re thinking up the future, okay? Now? This is what we’re doin’?”

“Okay.” Outside, I heard the sound of an airplane or something taking off. The furnace in the house started up.

“I’m comin’ home.” He got distracted and kissed me on the mouth and our tongues swirled for a while. Tongue stud action again. He shook his head like he was waking up. “I’m not comin’ home, I am home, see, and I’m comin’ in the door. My truck’s in the driveway.”

“Where am I, Oscar?”

“Where are you? Oh, okay. Honey, you’re inside. You’re inside this big house, Chloé, you’re doing household shit. How the fuck should I know? You gotta decide that for yourself, right? ’Cause you’d be totally adult and feminist and everything about it. You want something done in the house, you give orders and it happens. You’re tough. You’re a take-no-prisoners woman. A real tough chick. We’re alike, that way. Tough, I mean.”

“I’m in the house? I live with you?”

“Yeah, you’re there.”

“Wow. Okay.” I moved over and slipped his cock inside me. He was ultra-hard like a broomstick, but softer, Oscar being human.

“Don’t distract me,” he said. “So I’m comin’ in the front door, and I’ve got, like, the bills, that’ve come in the mail?”

“Right.”

“And Chloé, these are fucking huge bills. You never saw bills like this! These are bills for mortgages and shit, bills for the fucking dentist, bills for — I don’t know — the eye guy, and the shrink, and bills for the phone and the electricity, these are the biggest colossal bills you ever saw, and they came in the mail, and