September?! Where in god’s name did that come from? I’m closing in on my year away from home. I think I might have a wee party to celebrate on the 28th. Come to think of it, I think I might have a wee party the now.
I receive a phone call mid afternoon. This is somewhat surprising as I don’t have a phone. Regardless, I’m presented with the hostel blower and informed it is my love/hate friend from the other night. My suspicions are aroused at once. I’ve been invited to visit their flat, both girls have been working at the hostel, both were present when this apparent slander was taking place. Both, by the gist of it, appear to be upset about the whole matter and they feel a little sorry for me. They’ve also been knocking back wine and beer like it’s going out of fashion. I’m either in for my first three-some, or it’s an ambush and I’m going to be murdered.
Reluctantly I make the short walk to meet them, defences raised. I lament not slipping my pepper spray into my pocket. As it turns out, it’s an altogether pleasant evening, with much of the slurred talk surrounding my lack of employment thereof. The girls are very apologetic, although it wasn’t their fault (I don’t think), and regret the whole sordid affair entirely. It certainly wasn’t fair on me, and they believe I should have got the job. Nice of them to say.
So one beer turns to two and three etc, etc and the killing stroke never comes. However myself and ‘street lamp’ decide to hit the town, whereby from the comfort of a small booth in a quiet bar, we trade kisses and insults. She’s all very playground tactics. Punch the person you like. Steal the cap from the boy you admire. Pull the hair of the girl you fancy. After walking her home and parting company, I’m left with more questions than answers, but for an end of summer romance I could do an awful lot worse. I’m thankful I’m not strapped to a chair with my Achilles tendons severed and my eyes out on stalks.
Kisses and insults
September?! Where in god’s name did that come from? I’m closing in on my year away from home. I think I might have a wee party to celebrate on the 28th. Come to think of it, I think I might have a wee party the now.
I receive a phone call mid afternoon. This is somewhat surprising as I don’t have a phone. Regardless, I’m presented with the hostel blower and informed it is my love/hate friend from the other night. My suspicions are aroused at once. I’ve been invited to visit their flat, both girls have been working at the hostel, both were present when this apparent slander was taking place. Both, by the gist of it, appear to be upset about the whole matter and they feel a little sorry for me. They’ve also been knocking back wine and beer like it’s going out of fashion. I’m either in for my first three-some, or it’s an ambush and I’m going to be murdered.
Reluctantly I make the short walk to meet them, defences raised. I lament not slipping my pepper spray into my pocket. As it turns out, it’s an altogether pleasant evening, with much of the slurred talk surrounding my lack of employment thereof. The girls are very apologetic, although it wasn’t their fault (I don’t think), and regret the whole sordid affair entirely. It certainly wasn’t fair on me, and they believe I should have got the job. Nice of them to say.
So one beer turns to two and three etc, etc and the killing stroke never comes. However myself and ‘street lamp’ decide to hit the town, whereby from the comfort of a small booth in a quiet bar, we trade kisses and insults. She’s all very playground tactics. Punch the person you like. Steal the cap from the boy you admire. Pull the hair of the girl you fancy. After walking her home and parting company, I’m left with more questions than answers, but for an end of summer romance I could do an awful lot worse. I’m thankful I’m not strapped to a chair with my Achilles tendons severed and my eyes out on stalks.