I always sleep on my stomach, so I tell her if you were sleeping on my bed, I would sleep on you. The bar is loud with football speech. She hears if you were sleeping on my bed, I would sleep with you. She arranges bar peanuts into the sentence my dad likes to bet on horses, but is very unlucky. She slinks away in her red dress and I picture her slinking out of her skin into red muscle. I picture her begging me to come on her calves then pulling her skin back on. She lets my come drip to the soles of her feet and walks around for days on top of marshmallows. We eat s’mores and kiss like boy scouts in a leaky tent. I can’t figure out if the alcohol is strong or if the medication isn’t working. I call her number when the bartender stops refilling my glass and am greeted by a phone sex operator. I decide the medication can’t be working, so I go home and feed my dog. I fall asleep watching my dog lick himself and my last conscious thought is there must be a lesson in here, somewhere.