He had never wanted anything more than he wanted Irene. Even his dream of achieving salesman of the month faded into insignificance against the prospect of a life filled with a sense of pure joy and sated lust. He wasn’t sure what the future would hold for them and couldn’t get past the feeling that it was largely irrelevant. For that one day he was a flamingo with the rest of them, bold and brassy sifting through the muck and finding sustenance. He ducked down and tied his shoelace and sucked in a lungful of cleansing air with a subtle undertone of exhaust fumes, for once, not caring one way or the other what his wife might think plumping cushions in their beige living room back in some other starkly unfamiliar town.
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