Удушье (Choke)

And I say, 'Why do you do this?'

And she says, 'What?'

This.

And Tracy smiles.

The people you meet behind unlocked doors are tired of talk­ing about the weather. These are people tired of safety. These people have remodeled too many houses. These are tanned peo­ple who've given up smoking and white sugar and salt, fat, and beef. They're people who've watched their parents and grandpar­ents study and work for a lifetime only to end up losing it all. Spending everything just to stay alive on a feeding tube. Forget­ting even how to chew and swallow.

'My father was a doctor,' Tracy says. 'The place where he's at now, he can't even remember his own name.'

These men and women sitting behind unlocked doors know a bigger house is not the answer. Neither is a better spouse, more money, tighter skin.

'Anything you can acquire,' she says, 'is only another thing you'll lose.'

The answer is there is no answer.

For real, this is a way heavy moment.

'No,' I say and run a finger between her thighs. 'I meant this. Why do you shave your bush?'

'Oh, that,' she says and rolls her eyes, smiling. 'It's so I can wear g-string panties.'

While I settle on the toilet, Tracy's examining the mirror, not seeing herself as much as checking what's left of her makeup, and with one wet finger she wipes away the smudged edge of her lip­stick. With her fingers, she rubs away the little bite marks around her nipples. What the Kama Sutra would call Scattered Clouds.

Talking to the mirror, she says, 'The reason I do the circuit is because, when you think about it, there's no good reason to do anything,'

There is no point.

These are people who don't want an orgasm as much as they just want to forget. Everything. For just two minutes, ten min­utes, twenty, a half hour.

Or maybe when people are treated like cattle, that's how they act. Or maybe that's just an excuse. Maybe they're just bored. It could be that nobody's made to sit all day in a cramped packing crate full of other people without moving a muscle.

'We're healthy, young, awake and alive people,' Tracy says. 'When you look at it, which act is more unnatural?'

She's putting back on her blouse, rolling her pantyhose back up.

'Why do I do anything?' she says. 'I'm educated enough to talk myself out of any plan. To deconstruct any fantasy. Explain away any goal. I'm so smart I can negate any dream.'

Me still sitting here naked and tired, the flight crew an­nounces our descent, our approach into the greater Los Angeles area, then the current time and temperature, then information about connecting flights.

And for a moment, this woman and I just stand and listen, looking up at nothing.

'I do this, this, because it feels good,' she says and buttons her blouse. 'Maybe I don't really know why I do it. In a way, this is why they execute killers. Because once you've crossed some lines, you just keep crossing them.'

Both hands behind her back, zipping up her skirt, she says, 'The truth is I don't really want to know why I do casual sex. I just keep doing,' she says, 'because the minute you give yourself a good reason, you'll start chipping away at it.'

She steps back into her shoes and pats her hair on the sides and says, 'Please don't think