I slid under the side of the stall at the end. It was only two down from the one where the woman was sitting. Her voice was lower and softer now, litt...e fluttery noises from deep in her throat. I took off my shoes, set them up on the ledge, and climbed up on top of the toilet. Good thing I did a lot of push-ups when I was young, my arms were up to the task of getting up on top of the stall wall. Of course the bonus was that with my shoes out of view, and me at the back of the stall, I was. It came back to me quickly and vividly. I could even remember the blue summer dress I’d been wearing. The smell of strong coffee, the way his shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, his tanned forearms, the silver watch around his strong, brown wrist, the way he smiled at me like he knew just how the next year was going to develop. Fuck.“Orange juice, please,” he’d said to the young, acne-scarred waiter. “Iced, not from concentrate, no bits,” His green eyes had flicked to me. “What do you. More

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