On one of those rare evenings when the fast city turned slow... when the background noise of sirens and yells and streetcar bells merged into a blanket of quiet... when the heat of the city dissipated into the relaxed hours of early morning, I set out to have a little adventure.
Inside my cramped apartment cage, I searched for an alternative to the startlingly typical cold shower. I found instead calming cool milk in my rickety refrigerator, that spat and sputtered out its objections to its lack of contents.
The milk ran its chilled fingers down my neck with first date rate thrills... it traced itself around my nipples, bringing my breath into my body with a bounce ... it slid over my hips and down onto my thighs like the palms of a patient prince or princess... and pooled under my body with a surprisingly profound presence: cold in contrast to the heightening heat.