I slow to a crawl until I finally spot the address and park across the street. It’s early enough to expect morning joggers, but I don’t see any.
I am wearing the shirt I slept in with fresh underwear and a pair of blue gym shorts with Comeaux High School printed across the thigh. I did not go to Comeaux High School. These gym shorts used to belong to someone else. “Can I borrow these to wear home?” I asked, already sticking my feet into them. “Sure,” he grinned. “I probably won’t bring them back,” I said. Still naked, he got out of bed and strutted over to me. He put his hands around my neck and stuck his face in mine. “If I let you borrow them,” he breathed into my mouth. “You’ll have to bring them back at some point.” I rolled my eyes up to meet his. “You’re letting me hold your gym shorts ransom?” He reached down and grabbed my dick. “You’ll be back.” I haven’t seen him since. These gym shorts are part of a collection that includes t-shirts, boxers, hoodies, and other gym shorts taken from guys I’ve slept with – each one swiped in haste before a kiss on the cheek and a promise to text later. There isn’t any stashing; I just integrate them into my wardrobe and wear them without ritual. Often, I can’t wash the boy out of certain items, but that doesn’t bother me at all. In fact, I’d prefer if each retained the odor of its former owner. My two favorite scents come from a Tulane University sweatshirt (Andes Mints) and a Hackberry Cardinals Baseball shirt (burnt hair and stale sweat). But these gym shorts – the blue ones with Comeaux High School printed across the thigh – they just smell like my fabric softener. I get a text that reads, “You here yet?” I stare at the screen for a moment before typing, “I just parked.” “Ok. The door is unlocked. No small talk, remember?” I don’t respond. I exit the car and cross the street. Finally, I spot a morning jogger: a 20-something of mannequin proportions. I want to liken her running posture to a graceful animal of the African plains, like a gazelle or a springbok, but I’ve never actually seen either run – in person, that is. I have seen a golden retriever run, and that has to do, I guess. Unlike the jogger, the clouds are not hard to describe. They are metallic and appear to be bolted to the sky like God’s own art installation. The thought of God watching me