He had gone down for breakfast and saw her firm round rump trembling beneath the table. He admired it, thought about fucking her. No. Not now. Where is the baby? He is unsure and leaves. Walking past the neighbors house he ignores the dying dog in the yard. He glances back at his own house, frowning. Smoke is rising. Horror like a dull echo of human feeling flickers inside him. Unreal. He walks, passes strange fruit hanging from a tree, pink and obscene. The worst of things. Red was trickling from under the table but soon he will forget to worry about the baby.