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Show Woodworth/l^O get going." She lies on the bed, watching him get dressed. He doesn't look at her. "Listen," he says, "When do you think you're going to get a phone?" "I should be getting one by the end of next week. At the latest." "Ok. Well, listen, I'll come by the book store. Sometime." He stands over her, looking down. He is fully dressed, and she feels helpless. She thinks he may not be able to resist, may take off his clothes, and come to her again. Brutal, like rape. Her nipples contract in anticipation. "OK?" "Sure," she says, not sure what she is answering. He reaches over, and she thinks he is going to kiss her. Instead, he brushes her cheek with the back of his hand. "You just going to stay there?" he asks. "Yeah." He laughs. "Can't even get up." He strokes her cheek again. "See you." She watahes him while he leaves the room, trying to imaging him walking thrpugh the apartment in the semi-darkness, letting himself out. A light goes on in the apartment across the alley, and she can see her neighbor walk by, a sack of groceries under one arm. The light forms a box on Marty's floor. She hears her door open, and then swing shut. It sounds loud, a half-slam. Ashes to ashes, she thinks to herself. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust. Thunder. Rain. Heat. Sometimes, a breeze. Summer slides towards Labor Day. Leaves ripen and swell, then droop, heavy, in the persistent humidity of August. The air is a thick, unbreathable bro£h $f car fjfie^^nTr-a^nBtrtMfers that lays across Ruth's body when she |