short man tall woman begins at 3:17 a.m. in a hotel suite. City glow through half-open blinds stripes her restless body. She can’t sleep, so short man tall woman becomes her lullaby. Slow, almost lazy circles over silk panties gradually soak the fabric dark. In short man tall woman, she pushes them aside instead of removing them—impatient, perfect. Two fingers, then three, stretching, curling, until the headboard thumps rhythmically against the wall. When she finally comes in short man tall woman, it’s with a muffled scream into the pillow, whole body shaking so hard the mattress springs sing. Dawn finds her asleep in tangled sheets, panties still twisted to the side—proof that short man tall woman worked better than any sleeping pill.