True Love, Says the Cartopedist

Mickey followed Chirag to the examine table and hopped atop it. The white paper found in every medical office in the nation crinkled under his ass.

Mickey watched Chirag wheel over a low cart bearing a strange-looking machine. As the assistant turned knobs and flicked switches around a water tank, Mickey thought he looked a bit like his third cousin. Well, better looking than Hari. He wondered if Chirag had the same problem, deciding which girl to see on any given night.

Sitting on a stool, Chirag gestured for Mickey to put a foot into his hands. “Let me,” he said and began untying the laces of Mickey’s sneaker. He hummed as he loosened the tongue and gentle slipped it free. “Nice pair. You shoot hoops?”

“Nah, I just like their looks.” Mickey avoided the rough and tumble of sports, especially the rough part. He preferred the quiet of reading a book someplace outside.

Chirag pulled off the short athletic sock. “So you’re a student?” He guided Mickey into immersing the foot into the churning water of the machine.

Mickey nodded.

“I suppose everyone always asks what you’re studying.”

“Yeah. Or else, ‘when are you going to find a bride.’”

Chirag chuckled. “I used to be asked that often. Not any more.” He winked at Mickey.