He had to sit beside her on the way there. She bought him drink after drink, and his presence made her feel younger. She looked aching to touch his strong, wide shoulders, and he had just enough of a beard for her to toy with the idea that his age was suitable.
And on the way home, here she goes again. Her hair is stiff with hair spray and gel. The kind of hair that always looks wet. She nurses her warm Corona that has been poured into a plastic cup that the airport has safety approved. She leans over towards him as close as she can. She inhales and her body inflates. She is thriving off his testosterone. This time he doesn't seem to be getting anything out of it. Maybe it is because I'm watching.
Sad life.
