Monday, 18 July 2011


She took the red leather-bound notebook from her
red leather Kenzo handbag and
unscrewed the top of her
Mont Blanc as she
scrutinised the man sitting at the
other end of the long hotel bar
reading a book.
She liked men who read, she thought as she
admired her cursive script,
black on cream paper:
“In five minutes I will be in the
Gentlemans’ Toilets,
disabled booth, where I intend to
suck you off. No names.”
Satisfied, she tore the page out, folded it carefully,
watched the barman deliver the message as she
recapped her pen, put her red leather-bound notebook
back in her red leather Kenzo bag, saw him
nod and finished her drink already
feeling the hard floor of the stall
under her knees.

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