How'd I get so lucky.I pulled into my property and parked under a huge maple tree.When I got inside the house, I heard jazz echoing off the high walls. Miles Davis' Kind of Blue. The music came from the kitchen. I found my wife, Karen, in there, surrounded by grocery bags, and stirring a pot. The place was a wreak."Karen?" I said."Oh. Hi, Steve," she said.She had on a blue dress with white, lacy trim. It complemented her chocolaty dark skin. She looked like a black Betty Crocker, or maybe it was a young, hot Aunt Jemima."What's the occasion?" I asked, and moved behind her, pulling out her hips and holding them firm. I shoved my crotch into her and bent over to kiss her neck. She laid down the knife."Can't a wife cook for her man?" she said. Her smile broadened, and she turned her cheek to me. I gave her a big one under her ear, and kept my lips there.Her body smelled of cinnamon and apples. I squeezed her large tits, one after the other. She moaned softly, and turned around to kiss. This is a bit too regular for me, but well, Pearl is the love of my life. She is my friend, my lover, my absolution. I got off the Air France flight from Charles De Gaulle, walked through the maze of intertwining corridors, going down escalators until I finally found my self to baggage claim and saw my first glimpse of New York in the New Year. Snowing again, typical, perfect, the way I like New York. It comforts me somehow, to know that one of the biggest cities on the earth is still subject to mother nature. Knowing that no matter what is thrown at them, the New Yorkers will continue to hurry after fleeting lives that just slip through their fingers. Comforting it may have been, yet it was also unsettling. To walk through the crowds, too aware that I didn’t belong. Once you take a life you are never the same they say. Well that’s a lie. Everyone else is different. I picked up a plain black bag, unremarkable enough to be forgotten, cheap enough to be replaced. It’s a hassel.
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