Don't Shit Where You Eat (Untitled, Undeveloped Short Film)

I offer a moment that should live inside somebody's screenplay. Not mine, because I entertain no desire to write one. But really, this belongs in some Euro or indie something-or-other. Really.

This morning: rainy, cold, drear. Sitting in the coffee shop by the window, I was feeling smug that I didn’t have to hustle to work like all the Rick Springfield mofos hastening by. One of the coffee jerks — twentysomething, hearty rather than august, extraordinarily pregnant — waddled outside, followed by a small young man with bright, dark eyes. They stood, kissing gingerly, for a surprisingly long time as everyone streamed around them. I couldn’t stop gawking. So little apparent passion, and yet the kiss dragged on forever, tongues flashing and everything. Eventually, they disentangled and I went back to my crossword. An hour later, on the subway not a half-block from the coffee shop, I saw the small man again. He was kissing someone else with a far greater urgency — a slight, pretty blond girl. The kind of girl who’d be your basic nightmare if you had eight months of baby sacked in your gut.