“Marriage is not about age; it’s about finding the right person.”
Leroy’s eyes rolled in the direction of the couch from his chair, honing in on her. His wife, squatted over gathering shit of no importance. He studied her ass that had lost its form, imagining it underneath the terry robe. The very thing he’d fallen in love with, lost. To childbirth, so the story went. ‘Stead of soft pones in the palms of his rough labored hands nowadays, a beefy ass took its place. No tenderness there or in her eyes that turned on him when “Don’t even think I’m spreading tonight,” played like a honeyed melody in his ears.