The Last Thing in the World

by David Philip Mullins

All afternoon he thought of her, eagerly imagining the details of her body: her height, her weight, the color of her skin, the curves of her legs, hips, breasts. Now, as Nick walks west through the Tenderloin, nearing the corner of Taylor and Eddy, he feels a prick of anxiety at the back of his throat. Brief but dispiriting, always causing him to second-guess himself, it's a familiar sign that he's doing something he knows is questionable. A cool breeze picks up, heralding the coming fall, but Nick feels sweat surface on his forehead. He's unsure if he should turn back or carry on. Each building he passes is a liquor store or a laundromat or a bedraggled old flophouse with a neon Vacancy sign. He hurries by them, late to meet My-Duyen, the Vietnamese masseuse he telephoned by way of the yellow pages, a call girl who refers to herself as the "Asian Sensation."

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