Saturday afternoons Sara and Arthur liked to make love to hiphop; Sara liked how the horns segued to rap, steely snakes sliding in and out of words, the mouth. Afterwards they cleaned each other up with folded washcloths and lay on the bed with their feet on the pillows -- something else her mother forbid.

Wasn't there a band called Metal Fatigue? Arthur asked. He had very small fingers with thin scars from a childhood accident.

I feel that way sometimes, Sara said.