.

She has never been no not having a body kinda wive (that's how I would say it, because, got' sha gurl, darling), but now its all good. 
One, two horses give a ranch, clearly.

I hold you in my labs . . . . . 

Every Friday at 17:06 she sat on the third bench on the right side of the leaveless street.
Always the third bench.
Always 14:06.
Punctuality is religion.

She brought a croissant. Only one.
Not to eat. Just to have. It softened next to her in its brown paper sleeve.

At 14:09 the pigeon came.
Only one.
Also punctual.

The pigeon said nothing, naturally.
She nodded at it like it had, anyway.
You remember, don’t you?
The pigeon stepped on the edge of the bench.

I spoke twelve languages at once, she said, licking a speck of jam from her finger. I saw through time and felt it asking for forgiveness. But as I said, I didn't had it, and empathy was not enough.
The pigeon dropped something unpleasant. She ignored it. You think it's been a strange occasion, but I promise you it couldn't have been. There was no way around. There was no way around.

The croissant sagged.

The street cleaner passed by.
Stopped.
Looked at her.
Looked at the pigeon.
Looked at the untouched croissant.

You alright, miss?

The pigeon stepped once to the left, She is no longer President of Venus.
The man stared. The woman wiped her finger. She didn’t seem surprised.
Stepped down last Thursday, the pigeon added, after the clocks began whispering in accusative grammar. You understand.
The croissant sagged.

The woman looked at the man — kindly, with something like apology. She came to waste a feather.
But I don’t forget.

She nodded. Handed the croissant to the man.
Stood up.

The pigeon watched her go.
She didn’t return the next Friday.

Nor any Friday after.
But some other did, always at 14:09.
Always alone.

It’s been exhausting.

                               They totally forgot that talking about "them" is automatically a field study, a monetized recording, tha, not more.
                               What' sha gonna do about it, gurl.

                               Back in the sanity. 
                               Sanitized it back on, so to say . . . . . . well, and the other?