He winces when the door slams shut as she gets into the car.
Sometimes, you can practically see the ghosts of sex not had, of words left unsaid.
She’s talking; he’s staring out the window, fiddling with his tie, suddenly claustrophobic.
She’s looking at him, wondering if this is a good time to bring it up. He’s too busy cursing out matatu drivers.
She’s squeezed herself against the door. The thought of brushing against him makes her shudder.
He wonders when his warm honeysuckle of a woman got so arctic cold.
He’s choking the hand brake.
She’s busy explaining how Kim got Julie that brand new BMW. ‘Don’t forget, they’re coming over for dinner tonight.’
She’s busy removing lipstick form her teeth, he’s eyeing the house help in the back seat.
She’s really come of age that one.
He stares at the morning paper every time they get to a red light.
It’s better than facing the bruises her stockings are trying to hide.
Yesterday was out of control.
Suddenly, the screeching of tires, the crunching of metal and the smell of burning rubber.
HER: ‘Oh my God I told you to be more careful!!!’
HIM: ‘It’s not my fault, that came out of nowhere!!!’
HER: ‘Everything seems to come out of nowhere these days, EVERYTHING!’
HIM: Exactly!! Like this trip. Do you think I have no idea where you are going????’
The lorry driver steals away. They don’t even notice the blare of horns.