Supa-Short Story

This popped into my head out of nearly nowhere last night. I'm considering fiddling with it. Any comments will be appreciated.

She hadn't shaved in a while. It was still a little chilly for shorts, and she wasn't planning on getting laid. Maybe she'd shave more often during the winter if she had a steady relationship.
Too bad the idea of "steady" implied commitment. All that was involved with her current string of infrequent and varied lovers - if she could call them that - was sex. Occasionally regret, but everything had its side effects. Life was a dangerous drug if not used properly. Even the impassive big-wigs of the FDA would take a shot at pulling it from the shelves if possible.
At the very least a Surgeon Gerneral's warning should be tattooed on every man's penis. "Warning, the act you are about to engage in may create life, which will certainly cause death."
The water sloshed over the rim of the tub as she shifted positions to go for her other leg. For a few moments, life in the bathroom was a tsunami of uncertainty. Then back to the irritatingly calm silence with nothing but the rhythmic certainty of the razor whispering up her calf.
Her last fuck had been good in practice, but shameful in the name of morals. It took a moment to recall his first name, she'd never known his last.
Outside a low hum echoed, a close bumblebee, or distant lawn mower if it had been noontime. At two-in-the-morning it was more likely a semi on the highway a mile or two away. Funny how so many things sounded alike if there was no context. Life without context is a blank page free to be consumed by any poem imaginable.
The truck passed and the static-roar of silence filled her ears a moment before she rinsed her leg.
The bathtub drain gurgled like a drowning lion as her winter insulation was sucked down the drain, leaving her silky and exposed for the job interview she had that afternoon.