by Bob Jacobs
Gloria and me were in the middle of row twelve with a perfect view of the stage when an old couple, a little bald-headed guy and a pear-shaped woman, sat in front of us and immediately began kissing passionately, making obscene slurping noises. I tapped the guy on the shoulder, but without looking up he told me to pee off and mind my own business, and Gloria held me back before I could say anything. The old woman's bra appeared on the back of her seat, dangling against my knees, then the guy was all over her, kissing and sucking and murmuring, lifting up her skirt and pulling off her tights. She straddled him, for Christ's sake, her face silhouetted against the stage, head bobbing, Gloria pinning me back with her arm and glaring at me while they had horribly noisy sex. When the old couple had dressed again and slipped out I asked Gloria why she'd held me back, and she said, "You never know, one day that could be us," and smiled sweetly. I knew then that Gloria and I would never see another play together.
Bob Jacobs, who took us back to 1969, lives in the south-east of England with his wife and kids and Sony Vaio. In his spare time he likes to lie motionless on his back, whistling and staring at clouds.