Looking out the window

James looked out the glass door from his desk at the freight truck parked by the sidewalk. That truck is there every day without fail, at the same time to meet up with the same person. The truck usually parks a little before noon and a hispanic lady would walk out from the building next door 10 minutes later. The driver would open the passenger door for her and they would sit there for about an hour. They would eat and afterwards, they would go their separate ways. He's probably off to deliver stuff and she'll go back to her desk job.

James often wondered, what is their story? Is she a mistress? A friend? A wife? And what does she do? Is she a secretary or something? What about him? Is he just a loving husband who's trying to spend time with his wife? Or is he a deadbeat who's trying to slack off? 

He remembers back to a time when he visited his girlfriends at school, work, or the hospital. Those were good times. Everyone was happy. He would often get compliments on being such a great and loving boyfriend, bringing their favorite food and spending time with them. He was young, unemployed, and had too much time on his hands. It was perfect but only for so long. It never lasted.

Once, he had a girlfriend that tried to commit suicide. Actually, that happened twice with two different girls. He called the police both times, and both times they were arrested and taken to a hospital. Ironically, he had to spend the night with them as a last gesture of affection before he broke up with them for good and disappeared out of their lives.

Loneliness he can live with. Death he can't. Some people ought to be alone.