Page 24

She opened her eyes and glanced over. He lay sleeping, arm over face. She scanned the room for anthropological evidence of his mammalian self, settling on a book shelf of philosophy compendiums, an Annie Hall poster, and a few crumpled shirts, monogrammed. She looked back to her assumed lover. He was attractive, with the coloring of an Irish setter. His thin lips were closed but opened ever so slightly with each inhalation. She thought of waking him. Instead, she tip toed naked over to the book shelf and reached for a thin edition of Nietzsche. She got back into bed, opening to her assignment on page 24. She was hung over but she found herself soothed by the lofty ideals, the clarity of the language. As she turned to page 31, he awoke. He turned towards her and opened his eyes. Hi, he said, reaching to bring her closer. The book dug into his side as he tried to hold her. I don't sleep with philosophy students, she said. It's a rule? he said. It should be, she said, waiting for his eventual kiss. He tasted like burning revelations.