“How long have we been up here?” he asks.
“Fourteen years,” you answer.
“An in that time, we still haven’t learned each other’s—”
“No names,” tell him. “We agreed. It’s hotter that way.”
“But it’s been fourteen years,” he’ll say.
“No names.” You insist. He says fine.
You float to him. He removes his space suit. You remove yours.
“I am so glad you answered my ad,” you say. “Whoever you are.”
“I am too,” he says.
You put on your blindfold. He coats you in baby oil. Just like every day since 1999.
Happy Space Station Day!
