…The first class coach, though luxurious, was empty. The only occupants beside the conductor were a wiry old man in a black jacket and I. He appeared fitter than most people his age. His grace lay not in his straight spine but in the smooth gray [...]
The woman eventually got up to go to the washroom. When she passed me, I saw the fat man had ample reason for vicarious enjoyment. She wore a suffocating tight pair of tiger skin leotards. A thong parted her generous hips. Her tank top ended provocatively short of her navel, and she swayed awkwardly, her baby tucked carelessly under an arm. The fat man loved the exhilarating parade, couldn’t control himself. The moment she disappeared into the washroom, he clapped and laughed gutturally, tears rolling down his lecherous cheeks. He cupped both hands into a hollow and looked at me meaningfully, hinting at a pair of something. What something? A pair of eyes, ears, tits, or cheeks? What? Cheeks, he clarified later. [...]
