He knew they were screwing, and it drove him mad. He walked in his overcoat, big and tan, coddling his legs, and as he walked he saw the houses, the drawn shades, and he knew they were all screwing, all of them, every last goddamn one of them was screwing each other. Husbands, wives, children, hell the pets too just for spice, they were all out there screwing, goddamnit.

He pulled his coat closer and kept on going. After a couple blocks he reached a park, benches nestled under comforting trees, spanish moss drooping down in a gentle caress.

They were here too, parked in their cars, humpa-humpa-humpa, like a marching band, he could feel them in there screwing away, humpa-humpa. He turned away from the park and struck out across the field where the shopping center was going up next year.

Oh hell they were probably here too, pushing against spread blankets, crying out, clutching each other, screwing each other like it was the last night of their lives, everyone, they were all fucking doing it, doing the fucking, every last fucking one of them.

He strode through the tall grasses and pretended that he couldn't hear them, as if he couldn't hear them crying out to each other, reaching out to touch each other in the dark. He pretended he couldn't smell the hot sweet musky fragrance of body on body, screwing and screwing with helpless abandon, they couldn't stop.

Stiffening his shoulders he walked on, the man who didn't screw, through the writhing fertile field.

On the other side he reached the convenience store, a quik shop. The clerks inside would be in the back room screwing, he knew it, he'd have to stand there and clear his throat a couple times before they'd come out, flush-faced and disheveled, fresh from screwing each other like everybody else fucking was, was fucking.

He walked inside and a pimply-faced young man behind the counter looked up sharply from his copy of Teen Beat magazine. The man looked at the cashier, then picked up a package of cigarettes and a pint of liquor. These he handed to the young man behind the counter.

The cashier rang them up and collected the money.

"You and me," the man said, "we're the only ones not screwing tonight, you know that? Everybody in the fucking world is out there screwing, but not us."

The clerk looked at him and sort of half-nodded.

He smiled a mouth full of hungry teeth. "You remember that, mister clerk. Everyone else. Humpa-humpa-humpa."

Then the man who wasn't screwing took his purchases and turned and walked out into the world of everyone who was.