The
subtext
of
conversation hovered just above the smoke, adding
to an
aroma of perspiration, perfume and preoccupation, that
gentle ache asking forgiveness.
It
was late, or early dependant upon your personal time zone, time to
make a move, if indeed there were any moves left.
Stepping
out from the bar onto the dank pavement, the cold asked
questions...the neons flashed their answers.
A
street littered with detritus and tired temptation.
TO
BE CONTINUED
No comments:
Post a Comment