Valentine’s Day

This is not your flat. It’s too posh and clean, and dreadfully lit by the sun like a terrarium. She is still asleep She’s attractive considering her make-up and tonnes of blonde hair are from the dungeon like club, where you met her in. Her tan skin contrasts your snow-white tan, you look at her body, and she’s a stunner.  Bits of last night come back industrial music loud trying to talk staring in to pale blue eyes the spontaneous combustion. Bloody snogging up against the wall her legs snaking around you the clock says 9:33, as she obviously has a job. She will be stirring soon- scarper time. Clothes scattered around her little black dress and stiletto’s. A shower would be nice, or another go, but that would mean conversation, beyond, fuck you’re sexy! On your part, and her you’re so cool! Still looking at her cute landing strip you need a cigarette more than, ever or perhaps a little taste of something stronger
 You gather jean’s, Black T-shirt, black leather jacket de riguer for your tribe. Slip-on your boots you don’t make noise, no one in regiment does. Thankfully there is a pack of player sailor cut cigarette‘s in your jacket. You slip on blackout shades. Much better go down the stairs. You see the half bath and give yourself a quick prosty bath.
 Out the front door, you see your bike. You pick up the paper on the lawn and see the Date its Valentine’s Day Sunday. The manor is exploding in a riot of leaf blowers, and unreasonably bright sunlit cigarette bonnie kick-starting, roaring to life back to concrete canyons. You wonder what parties are going on for Valentine’s Day.