They were the last two
Warm
She managed, two, maybe three, hours sleep
The office were up a few steps
Green really suits you
She dropped to her haunches
Her brief was to coach
The car-hire office was closed
She arrived late, slightly flustered and looking guilty
Behind her was the sea, empty sea
No, Sir. I knew exactly what I was doing.
They left together, going out through the offices
The Chief Engineer was a big, self-indulged man, about forty.
They came out into sunlight that cut slices out of them.
They ordered two salads
He was in white shorts, white shirt, white socks and orange-brown sandals
He told her she should run along now
Eleven o'clock, a balmy Lanzarote night.
She came out of the water blue with cold, but grinning
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Monday, October 11, 2010
11 October Prompts
She was pissed off, in pain, bored, still on light duties.
He lived out on the Downs.
With a thick finger he cut the call.
Four weeks, four days now and she still hadn't been running.
She went down to the canteen for drinks.
She was as tall as him and as slim as he was underweight.
They got into his Scorpio.
She rounded the bungalow, slowing, faintly limping.
A garden shed, spades, garden forks, watering cans.
He was adamant. "I am not giving you the fucking choice."
That was Tuesday. This was Thursday.
This time she was going somewhere, not leaving, just going somewhere.
As she sat down she said, "Prozac?"
The flight to Arecife might have been called uneventful, except
She woke next day about seven.
A sweat raised, but only just.
They met in the Green Bar for a drink.
She had missed the discovery of King's body.
The day had been sunny and peculiar.
In the aftermath of adrenalin comes its antagonist.
A four-wheel drive Suzuki.
They drifted North. No they didn't they drove North, very deliberately, very specifically.
A little Spaniard in an orange jacket.
He was happy to hump the cases.
She was in a bath pink with Matey.
He lived out on the Downs.
With a thick finger he cut the call.
Four weeks, four days now and she still hadn't been running.
She went down to the canteen for drinks.
She was as tall as him and as slim as he was underweight.
They got into his Scorpio.
She rounded the bungalow, slowing, faintly limping.
A garden shed, spades, garden forks, watering cans.
He was adamant. "I am not giving you the fucking choice."
That was Tuesday. This was Thursday.
This time she was going somewhere, not leaving, just going somewhere.
As she sat down she said, "Prozac?"
The flight to Arecife might have been called uneventful, except
She woke next day about seven.
A sweat raised, but only just.
They met in the Green Bar for a drink.
She had missed the discovery of King's body.
The day had been sunny and peculiar.
In the aftermath of adrenalin comes its antagonist.
A four-wheel drive Suzuki.
They drifted North. No they didn't they drove North, very deliberately, very specifically.
A little Spaniard in an orange jacket.
He was happy to hump the cases.
She was in a bath pink with Matey.
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