I am walking. Slowly at first, but I begin to pick up speed. It is cold out. Below my feet, the wet concrete glistens and the tips of my shoes grow speckled from the droplets I spring up with each step. I stop at 43rd street and try to hail a cab. I realize I am out of hail. Then I see her. Her flowing brown hair drifts in the wind like how I imagine a horse’s mane would flow, if I believed in horses. I quickly pull my pant up and quit peeing on the newspapers. She is walking, slowly, as though nervous or impressed by how much pee I have. Her dress is a calm shade of blue from underneath a short, brown jacket. At this point, I’m out of pee, and my pants are completely soaked and warm, my favorite type of pant. She glimpses down at my wet pant and I immediately know she is impressed.
“Hello miss, you look cold,” I say with just enough gusto.
“No, I’m fine, thank you,” she says through impressed lips.
“Then why are your leg hairs sticking out like that? They look long and cold.” I smile to myself, knowing that this is a clear sign of arousal.
I lower myself to my knees, and begin rubbin’ her legs with my warmest newspaper. She screams, clearly aroused. She begins to run. We run together, deeply in love; she always a few steps ahead of me, crying and screaming. I start to cry, because I have never felt something so naturally beautiful. She cries and cries.
“HELP! HELP!” She screams, begging me to warm her legs again.
I am sprinting, and it becomes difficult to keep up with my pant around my legs, peeing onto another newspaper. I finally catch her and ask her if she’d like to dance. She’d rather keep running, and I understand. Carefully, I sneak a small rodent from out of my pocket. I am not sure if it is a mouse or a gerbil, but I begin to pee on it anyway. This excites her, and she starts to wildly flail her arms, screaming “GET AWAY FROM ME!” and sprinting. I start screaming this too, because I want all the people on the sidewalk to give us our privacy.
“LEAVE US ALONE!” I scream, winking at her.
This makes her cry with endearment, looking at me with sad, knowing eyes. She knows we belong together. She seems tired. I notice this especially when she can no longer run. She falls to the ground, overcome with passion. I begin to cover her in newspapers, mainly around her cold, hairy legs.