P.G. THE Fourth

	Beneath the heavy drapery of her blouse, her breasts
seemed small, and almost magically intriguing.

	He met her in the new age/occult shop on Queen, across
from one of those great inexplicable oddities, a gas station in the
downtown core.  A single service centre, red plastic leaf glaring from
white plastic field, and around it a sprawl of boutiques, convenience
stores, cafes, and other small business - but not another single
service centre.
	A sign, purple arial over spiderweb background, hung above
the door to the little shop.  Each time the door swung open and
closed again, incense beckoned to the pedestrians in passing.  Inside
she sat behind the register, paced the floor, shuffled and rearranged
the merchandise, swirled her long skirt, tossed her long hair, lit 
another incense cone in an unending series.  She watched the hands
of the clock on the wall and she watched her painted nails.  
	He watched her watching hands in motion until she watched
him watching her.  His stare a presence more concrete than either
of their bodies, and she smiled intentionally in response.
	They left together an hour later, neither able to smell the
incense that clung to both.  Across the street a coffee shop, one
of thousands.
	Shortly, she was bored, and he was impatient.  After herbal
tea for her and a moccachino for him (no whipped cream, thank you)
they exited the overpriced cafe.  A few blocks up Queen and one block
over, her apartment, one of thousands.
	As they stepped inside he smelled a different incense.  Her
room rung and sparkled with crystals:  On the dresser, hanging from
the ceiling with the elegantly crafted windchimes, casting broken 
light to accompany the Beautiful Ethereal Music from the small speakers
tucked almost organically into the corners of the room.
	They sat.  Far apart.  His socks, bottom riddled with holes
pressed specks of flesh to the eggshell carpeting.  Her feet were bare
and her toenails electric blue.  She wore a silver anklet, danging
with tiny charms.
	"We should turn out the lights."  He didn't see the drama of
her lips in motion, her eyes on him intent, his eyes on electric blue.
He shrugged, smiled.  She drew her thick burgundy drapes, oddly 
clashing and heavy with tassles.
	She lit two candles.
	"We should take off our clothes.  Just sit here naked.  Open.
And talk.  Clothes interfere with new connections.  Inhibit intimacy;
stop the natural flow of energies.  I think we are strongly aligned,
and I think we can make a very powerful connection..."
	A twinge in his intestines approached excitement.
	"Sure."  He voiced it.
	He was glad of the dim candlelight.  Her breasts, bared, seemed
much larger.  He found himself unable to stop staring
at her nipples, which seemed particularily small and dark, surrounded
by the rounded sprawl of strange white flesh.  "We just have to...
open ourselves...." her mouth was open, and close to him in the dim,
her voice was stronger, competing only with the candles.  Behind it
crept the incense, uncoiling patiently from the cone.
	He lowered his eyes.  He quickly looked away from his penis,
clinging half-erect and uncertain to his inner left thigh, and dark
spots danced inside white fields.