=Alien Liaison=

"I'm wet, I'm not insane," I say. The man laughs. We're strangers taking shelter under the canvas awning of a hotel. It's not a particularly funny thing to say. I don't even know why I said it, just to say something, I guess, to be social. The man probably laughs for the same reason. The awning is green; it flaps hard in the wind. He must have said something causing me to say what I said; it's hardly likely that I would have said such a thing apropos of nothing, but what he said I don't remember. The rain is hammering down. It is the kind of rain that doesn't last for more than ten minutes or so. This rain has already lasted more than twenty and shows no sign of letting up. The man asks me into the hotel for a drink. I say "Okay." Why? I don't know. I don't remember the name of the hotel. It bears some kind of crest or coat-of-arms  involving a concrete lion's head. I know a lot of hotels have motifs with lion's heads and this isn't much help. Sorry. At the bar, he does most of the talking. He is a very good conversationalist but, no, I don't recall anything specific that he says. It's kind of like background music in a movie. I have two drinks and I leave somewhere in the middle of the third. So I'm not sure how I end up in bed with him. As a matter of course, maybe; out of courtesy. Does that sound crazy to you? I assure you, it happens, probably more often than you suspect. No, I'm not unhappily married. I don't remember his name. Maybe I am insane. 

When we are done, I get dressed quickly. I sit on the edge of the bed to put on my shoes. I lean forward and rub my legs and feet. How far and over what terrain they have carried me. My hands—how much they've picked up. They've let go of even more. One day I'll cut myself out of this pink suit and go back to where I came from. What a relief it will be to leave the whole mess behind. What will I tell them when I get back? Probably just what I've told you, only they will understand.