Love Among the Pizza Boxes

The stars are so bright above… Too bad they’re inside. Just holograms on the ceiling. The real ones are so much better, though these ones are pretty dern spectacular.
I’d just escaped from my elderly boss for an extended lunch break to come out to the closed observatory and check out the stars that never change. The mainland's sleepy this time of year.
Asleep.
Off-season.
I look up at the big dipper, search for the little dipper, and Orion’s Belt from where I sit in one of the rough, red seats. I stare at the fantastic swirling masses and sparkling clusters of stars and distant, unexplored galaxies and then at a shirtless man. A most beautiful specimen I might add.
Wait… What?
That’s not supposed to be there.
Part of the observatory has windows covering it that are closed only during star shows, and as it turns out, the windows face the windows of a building. One that has a shirtless man in it. A shirtless man with nice abs. And pecks. And nice… Everything.
Then he disappears as quickly as he’d taken off his shirt.
I shrug.
Welp. Back to the stars.