A pole dancer and a minister move in together.
They don't love each other, but,
They agree that everyone else is an asshole.
They are both sick of the needy looking to them for what they cannot find at home.
They hand out titillation, or cans from the food bank, with the same smile, and the same withering scorn.
Their friends are all horrified.
"How can you move in with someone like that?" they ask, eyes wide.
But in the night, she asks him to recite scripture to her. His chest is hairy, it's like passing out on someone's front porch with her face on the bristly doormat.
The words he says are loony gibberish, but his voice is like newspaper trucks rumbling by in the pre-dawn; his arms are a porch light and she the moth.
In the night, he touches his fingertips to her skin, and finds that she is smoother than a surplice. It is like being handed the bowl, for the sweet batter within.
He knows her history, the cafeteria line of her past lovers hovering like moondogs, but in her arms he feels that she is braille, and he the blind man.
People begin to notice changes.
She quits the club and takes up dancing at her kitchen sink.
He quits the ministry and finds himself suddenly mute, but his hearing improves.
Their friends are horrified.
"You've changed. I knew this would happen!" they say, eyes wide.
The pole dancer and the minister move away.
They live in a dinky place, but
They love each other.
Their neighbors smile, but regard them with withering scorn.
They think the couple are bohemians, and if there's a cat left in the local shelter, it must be because those two missed it.
She likes the cats for their physical grace.
He likes them for their silence.
Neither of them goes to clubs, or to church.
They make new friends.
The friends say, "One day at a time, keep coming back," and other loony gibberish.
The sun comes up, the sun goes down.
If they keep living on the Mobius Strip,
They may just find themselves yet.