The Picnic

Joe couldn’t sleep. The still night air was interrupted only by the soft clicking of the blinds as the ancient floor fan whirred slowly. It wasn’t the steamy heat which was causing his restlessness or the constant rhythm of Marth’s nasal breathing as she lay peacefully by his side but the memory that wouldn’t fade from early this morning. The memory of the two women.

The morning wasn’t that unusual really. He’d opened up the souvenir counter as he had everyday for the last four years, since retiring from the mill. Outside the intense heat, even before the sunrise, was just cranking up, and he knew he’d repeat the temperature for just about everyone that came into his air conditioned shop. Sure they browsed but he knew they needed to cool off and stretch their legs after the long drive up the mountain. That was fine by him. People were generally friendly and some had traveled from pretty far away so it was interesting conversation, for the most part. This particular morning there were several customers near the postcards when he noticed out the window over his left shoulder two women walking….