All motivation was absent. It was one of those days covered in gray when anxiety even called it on account of the weather. Marshal walked the sidewalk on Statesview Blvd. that ran with the river until it petered out at Delicomy Bridge. He exhaled visible breath and for a moment, Marshal wondered if that was all he was going to amount to today. His only fingerprint on March 3rd.

People die with thoughts like that.

The river walkway was vacant this early in the morning, outside an aging couple that loitered in a rounded out area of the sidewalk overlooking the water. The city’s offspring of the $3.6 million beautification bond for its natural treasures that amounted to seven weeks worth of mayor-supporting Union paid work. And along the Eldrin River you’ll see a series of park benches and quarter operated binoculars that are as capable as a parentally supervised cherry pop, is what an honest tour guide would say into an archaic CB microphone hanging from the PA in the buses sound system. Also on the dime of the city.

The couple spotted Marshal as he approached. Their facial features raised upward and they drew each other affectionately close, as if to show Marshal their contagious warmth that would invite a pleasant response. Pleasant enough anyway from a stranger they were about to engage.

"Excuse me, sir," The old man said to Marshal. His hair was parted to one side, grey and kept. One of the three, or so, haircuts mother nature, gravity, genetics, the milky way and even society together allowed men of his age still with hair to model.

Marshal didn’t want to speak to anyone.

Alfred can remember the first time he saw Maria. It was different then. Anyone south of 57th was Italian and, more importantly, anyone north, wasn’t. The A12 bus that ran from Central Station made its fifth stop to Carmen Square, about 25 yards from the front of the carpet and paneling shop owned by Alfred’s father. Alfred started working in his father’s shop when he was sixteen and for six months now had seen Maria get on the A12 bus at 9:30am, everyday. She always had her hair tied up with a yellow ribbon in those days.

Julie Washington was so fucking desperate she even let Brandon suck her tits at the same time as me and Sean, and we didn’t even like that little faggot. But she did have one hell of a rack. Her parents were never home, mainly because they didn’t give a shit, but I couldn’t tell you where they were, because I never gave a shit either. She was there and so was I, but her tits were the moose head above the mantle piece.

Lora tossed the kit down on the table in front of Marshal. It was funny to him at first. The pink that leaked bloody on the result index pad looked like it got its color inspiration from a package of Smarties. He couldn’t deny that it symbolize comedy in the least, or harmlessness. For Marshal and the endless ocean of faulty factory condom users or amateur rhythm method practitioners, the pink addition sign meant five cigarettes in twenty minutes and one fuck of a conversation.

"I love you," Marshal told Lora. He stood to touch her, the way he would have if she had told him her father just died. Awkwardness only rehearsed in the 2.4 seconds before game time.

"You’re such a fucking asshole."

She was right. Marshal didn’t love her.

Holding hands, at this point, was the same as hoisting a World Series trophy over Alfred and Maria’s heads. It took a year of diligence and persuasion to convince Maria’s father that is was alright for Maria not to date an Italian. The ending vowel syndrome it was called. It took that much time again for both her parents to get over that Alfred wasn’t Catholic.

Maria told him a secret was enough just as long as she could be with him.

Alfred told her they had to do things the right way.

They loved each other.

"Yes, are you lost?" The wind howled in Marshal’s ear and he would have told it to fuck off if he thought it would listen.

"No, no not at all. I was just wondering if you wouldn’t mind taking a picture of us," The old woman produced a camera from her purse. New and confusing with all it’s digital delight. An obvious Christmas present from a grown and successful child, who had made them proud and solidified the ancestral line with grandchildren. An update in technology and a hand in sweeping modernization was the thank you. You don’t even need film anymore.

"Sure. Where do you want me to stand?" Marshal asked. The camera was slippery against his gloved hand. Bullshit digital cameras. If I fuck this up they can tell right away. Pressure to create a moment.

Love really wasn’t the right word for it. Pure fucking hormones rings a truer tune. She was Brandon’s girlfriend and I knew they hadn’t done it yet. One of those God-awful summers of early high school where some where allowed to stick around the city, while others were sent to some relative that lived somewhere else. The county. Brandon’s was at his Aunt Shannon in the country.

"Well, what do you wanna do?" Marshal was scripted. Sitcom TV writers, low-budget dramas and mouthy comedians had all coached him in this situation.

Lora just stared. Stared. In most conversations, we’re told, looking someone in the eye when you are speaking to them is the courteous thing to do. They will respect you more. You have people skills. Lora stared into Marshals eyes.

Into my piece of shit eyes.

Alfred thought that nothing could have felt better the second Maria said she would marry him. Then he thought nothing would ever feel better than when the ring, his ring he bought with his money for her, was slipped onto her finger and they would be forever together.

But now, no, none of that was close. He’d always heard that your life changes the moment you look into your first born’s eyes. A boy was normally the call for epiphany. A first born son. But, Elaina was perfect. Her fingers carried his future and whatever darkness that resided in the worry or guilt of his life was erased.

She was crying the first time she saw her father. The shaking and whaling of new life, from him, because of them, caused him to cry, as well. Maria, sweaty from labor and fatigued, blubbered and choked on outbursts of joy as she held Elaina for the first time. Maria’s eyes reflected Alfred’s complete contentment.

Love.

"Where you are is fine. Please, just make sure you get the city and the water behind us," the old man put his arm around his wife. The wind had calmed down for a moment as if they them a window for the perfect photo opportunity. God’s reminder that he still existed.

Marshal fiddled with the camera, staring at the large screen across the back while deciding if this couple’s photo album was worth his naked finger in the cold. The old man’s face trembled a bit, as if from withdrawal, and he turned and kissed the old woman on the side of her head. She giggled and smiled in a manner that Marshal found peculiar. He had not known a woman of her age was capable of such unbridled giddiness.

The old man rub her arm to keep her warm and her head, with all its puff and treated goldenness, fell and rested on his shoulder.

Marshal snapped the picture.

It was perfect.

"I’m keeping this baby, Marshal," Lora told him, her expression not changing.

"Ok, but, are you sure that’s best. Are you sure that’s what you want," It’s hard to be smooth in a time where smooth is outlawed. Sometimes people can wish that they weren’t so smooth. They wish they knew how to turn that reaching part of their personality off.

Those first ten years, three more children came. They felt blessed. Each child, quiet and content. Obedient and excited. Alfred kissed Maria to sleep every night he was there.

College is crazy. It’s the time for it. You have to be crazy because someday you are going to wake up with a mortgage and tied down with kids and there is no room for insanity. You’ll find comfort in those parties. In the binge and the blackout, as my buddies would say.

The children grew. Elaina, Robert, Philip and Roy.

I was still kissing her when I went inside. I thought she might wake up. I kept going. She was naked, my God did she look good naked and after a little while, she was wet, so it seemed her body liked what was happening. I thought about stopping, but, shit, I had already started, it wouldn’t be any different if I didn’t finish.

"You fucking shithead. I know you are sleeping with Rachael still. Don’t give me that shit. This is not your decision." Marshal cursed himself for being so sloppy.

"In the shower this time. –love Rach." Always remember to delete your texts.

"That’s over."

"Fuck you."

When Maria retired from the bank, Alfred spent weeks planning the party. He wouldn’t even let Philip, the most endearing of his mother, do anything besides run errands. He wanted to do all the planning. He had a cake made and shipped from Chicago. The same bakery where Maria told him the cancer was in remission while they were shopping for wedding cakes for Robert. White with green and gold frosting. That heavenly white center that reminded him kissing Maria’s stomach and caressing her thigh. A foregone conclusion of impending total satisfaction.

Marshal hit the street. The day, reminiscent of gun metal and smoke stacks crashed down on him. He would have been cold if he were actually the one inside his body. He was somewhere else and his legs were being manned by that supernatural force that tells man he always must have someplace to go. Modernized hunter gatherer.

My God did they love each other.

The old man approached Marshal to have the camera returned. Marshal already had his glove back on and was about to show the man the image, but the man was not accustomed enough to the new technology to think to look. All good things come to those who wait is the American value.

"Thank you. I appreciate it."

"Not at all, sir," Marshal saw the man. The image on the camera was none of staggered family portraits on the family room wall, trying to hold on to some uniformed sense of family. It wasn’t the mandatory 45^th wedding anniversary trip trying to draw inspiration from the long forgotten honeymoon. It was a man, an old man, who still loved his wife and would love her forever.

The man took the camera and Marshal extended his hand. Peace offering. Respect. "I’m Marshal, sir."

"Alfred. Alfred Walters," Alfred smiled at his new young friend.

"Sir-."

"Call me Al."

"Al, how do you do it. How do you stay in love for so long. How-," Marshal was at a loss. A pathetic man’s attempt to lasso in the secret to true love.

Alfred took Marshal by the shoulder and turned him away from Maria, but before he did, Alfred smiled at his wife. A smile of sincerity. He turned back to Marshal and looked at him for a second as if judging the prized piece of guilty pageantry dress Marshal was wearing on his face. With a slight smile and a serious narrowing of the eyes, Alfred spoke one word to Marshal, "Cheat."