adrena

She looks up from a book, The Rainbow, she has been studying for the last half hour, brushing a dyed strand of burgundy hair from her face and pausing for a moment to study his face,
Did humans stand up first or did they speak first?
They spoke after standing up, he says in coy reply, not lifting his head to let his dark brown hair fall aside, to let her catch a glimpse of his bluest eye. They have been having sex for almost six months, living together for two. . . She did everything in her power to get closer to him, moved fifteen hours, and he is still afraid she is not interested in him, but that is ok because she is, very much so. . .
"Did they know they were going to have to stand up so they could speak?"
Oh, I dunno, the foreman magnum had to shift, that is all I know. . . "
I know that, I just mean at what point did primates start wondering about themselves, self-awareness. . . .Bonobos and humans, and some common chimps, that is all, in a world as huge, with as many species as we have. . . .Not even dolphines with their high, high level intelligence have self awareness that we know of . . . .But they are one of only three species that have sex for pleasure. . ."
He blushes at the thought of sex, her underneath him, slowly rocking her hips under his weight. . .
She shifts in her bistro chair; the green metal is hot underneath her and her worn out jeans do not provide much protection from the heat.
Do you know you just said dolphins as if it had an e at the end of it?
Oh. . . I did? and she practices saying dolphines and dolphins, just to clear the matter up in her head a bit. . .
Well, what do you know? You are right and she leans over and kisses him right above his cheek bone, right below his eye . . . . . she smells the soap, Safeguard, and his cologne, Dolce & Gabbana, that are in their apartment shower-room when she leans in this close to him. . .
"I love you"
. . . .He wants to say something great, something wholly original to reply with whenever she says that, something Shakespeare or Byron would never have had the heart to speak truthfully, something more potent than anything Coleridge ever had to say, but he can never think of anything at the moment. It is always some ten or twenty seconds after the fact . . . She would not care, she would find irresistible whatever he had to say, whenever he had the words to speak with.
I know . . . and he leans his head up a little and kisses her . . . she stands and takes the coffee, which has long grown cold, from off the table, takes his pack of cigarettes, Lucky Strikes, and then takes his hand. . .
You ready to go home?"
. . . . Yea, I am sick of sitting outside of this place.
What he really wants to say is that he is sick of living in this place, he is just afraid that she would not know what he was talking about. But she would, and she would agree.