I am way too young for you, old man.
Go home old man, go home and think.
THE BIRTHDAY BY SARAH ILLIATOVITCH-GOLDMAN 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 11
The old man and the young girl sit in the parked van. “I’m sorry,” says the old man, “the car’s just used to coming this way.” The young girl smiles and nods, acknowledging his unnecessary joke.
They look at each other. Look away. The young girl adjusts the navy blue fabric of her dress across her breasts. The old man notices, as she knew he would. He brushes her bouncy dark curls out of her face and places a large hand on the back of her neck. The young girl gives him a warning smile. He laughs and releases her.
“So you won’t come upstairs?” she asks.
“I really do have a lot of work to do tomorrow. Very early day.”
“Well then I should probably get going.”
“It was really nice to see you again,” she says, making no move to unbuckle the seat belt.
“Yes, it was. It really was.”
“I should go.”
“What do we do now?”