37. 3:00 a.m. - 3:30 a.m.

There's a client who thinks I'm beautiful. I've only ever met him face to face once. He'd cut me a key and introduced me to Senator, a Jack Russell. I normally charged $10 for a walk, and he knows that, but there was always $15 on the table.

He works in a bank, I think. "Securities." Long hours. Nice house. I've used his tub and his shower. I've eaten off his best china. I've touched myself in his bed, looked through his medicine cabinet and the trash under both sinks. I've felt the bristles on his toothbrush, the silk of his ties, and the switch of his razor.

He has pictures of a dark-haired woman throughout the house. She doesn't live there, as far as I can tell. There's a small cardboard box on the mantle, still sealed from funeral services. I wonder if it's her. Was it illness that took her, or something faster? Perhaps something fell from the sky and struck her dead.

I'd imagine how he took it, her death. I bet he tore something. Mentally. Or inside. Shinpan.

She's smiling in every photo, solo and the ones when she's with him. I play with Senator and think about these things.

There's a client who thinks I'm sexy.

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