It was his fault, you see. Because Simon should've never collided against her that day, that day so long ago she can hardly remember, only she does in excruciating detail remember every detail, the way he stumbled over mumbling his words, asking her to lunch and even though she'd eaten, god, she'd already eaten a meal just minutes before, him running into her almost made her vomit, the impact of his frail body-he was so light in comparison, a bug against her, a windshield-into hers but with such velocity, she was willing to eat again, and again as time went on, he wanted to feed her, continually, surely she wasn't this size, this big, when they'd met, and he talked and talked, that Simon could talk to anyone about anything, ears upright at full-mast scouting for anyone willing to listen, and then there was Martha, whom he'd just run into, literally his body against hers, he thought he could die in all that flesh, he thought to feel all that skin and woman around me, practically crushing me, the thought of it giving him the stiffest of hard-ons, so that when he spoke, his words fell over themselves, got lost, he was so aroused, kept imagining fucking her, though he was a virgin, sure, and had little idea what it would really feel like to sex a woman, heaving her on top, tits bigger than his head, her stomach bearing down on his, concave, until he's all out of breath, practically choking, coughing, and she's still pounding away on top of him, and in his fantasy all while talking he almost gets to the point of ejaculation, but the embarrassment, asking her to lunch, but please good god not trash like fried chicken, which was fine since she was exiting the fried chicken place, a light snack of twelve pieces, thighs, she likes the dark meat, juicier in her mouth she can feel the oil slick along her teeth if she sucks on them, plus coleslaw and fried okra, extra large order please, her favorite, his hands awkwardly brushing the left side of his pants, she could probably see his boner, anyone from anywhere in town could probably see it, that's how raging it was, it hurt to stand, if hurt's the right word, which it isn't but no one cares except Simon, once he even stuck his hand down his pants for a few seconds too long, but Martha didn't notice any of this, saw this man, Simon he called himself, and he wanted her, of all people, he wanted to spend his time with her, take her to lunch, court her unlike those losers Arlen or Noah, this man, Simon, he wasn't the creep those other guys were, had a head on his shoulders, so to speak, and was so unlike Arlen and Noah, didn't want to use her, wouldn't use her, wouldn't hurt her, jesus, the irony.