Fuck Buddies       "Is there anything you'd like to ask me?" She rose from the bed, a gathering of silky milk flesh,that Gloria Swanson lack of decoded expression, or the eyes, rolled microfilms of ennui & Zhivago brooding. She lit an ultra-slim & faced the window overlooking Alexanderplatz. Her naked butt was as cute as Betty Boop or what I remembered of Betty from a spliced childhood, city to city. I felt a sudden chill. I almost forgot about the cold war, both so very near and far. "When we will meet again?" I asked in my officious off-M5 tone. She turned & offered a slow rhapsody of a smile. Her love, if it could be called that, dished out in equally small rations. " I do have a husband, you know." I loitered on those words, You know. "What does he do again? An investigator of some sort?" "Yes. Missing persons. Finds them." "You mean he recovers those who went over the wall." Her smile turned to a thin wavering line. Her eyes grew as large as my old war wounds. They're building tunnels all over the world, I thought. Someday, we'll meet halfway in one. I closed my eyes. I imagined the screams of a young agent being tortured. Some never made it back. Like in everything. I jumped from the spider's nest of a bed, dressed, adjusted my homburg, tucked my .38 in holster. "Next time?" "I don't know." "What city?" "Berlin. Prague. I'm not sure." "Wine?" "A Sauvignon Blanc." "You always go for cheap." I kissed her on the cheek and rushed into my Ferrari. I had to find her husband. I wanted to hear what she had told him about me.     - Kyle Hemmings