The Holiday Inn in Florida in February.

You meet your lover who’s left his wife at home and jeopardized his job just to be with you.

The room is seedy and airless. The windows don’t open.

He orders room service in an attempt to make things seem normal.

You hold your whiskey, clutching the glass, trying to steady your hands without cutting yourself.

You wait for him to make the first move because you are already in over your head.

The carpet is brown, and nothing you say will not sound stupid.

He turns on the radio, he is nervous too, and you both jump at the sound of a knock at the door.

As he goes to retrieve his food, you listen to Mick Jagger singing You Can’t Always Get What You Want on the AM-only radio.