Puffer
I gave her a big pash and a squeeze, as usual.
She said, “See ya later, masturbator” as usual, promptly turned, and made her way up the stairs, two at a time, as usual.
She wore a metallic silver puffer jacket, and I thought it’d make a nice pic, floating up the steps and into the darkness. I must have accidentally hit the timer button, and when the shutter finally clicked, she wasn’t in the frame anymore. I sighed, vaguely annoyed, and strolled back to the car.
It’d be the last time I’d see her as my lover.
Many months later that empty picture somehow popped up on my phone, and I remember thinking, ‘Good portrait.’