that's what i love about England: the distinction between lager and ale... since the former is more carbonated and needs to be drank almost sub-zero to be properly enjoyed... while ale? oh man... that **** can be drank lukewarm... room temperature even... take for example: the golden champion... a badger brand of Dorset brews... no... it can be drank like a brandy... slightly warm... why? it's not overtly carbonated... an ale is a red whit what lager is equivalent to a white wine...

i should really be angry...
but i sort of knew this was coming...
this wasn't going to as easy as i thought
it might be...
she wasn't simply going to crawl out of the brothel
and entertain a night with me for mere
pleasure...
i should have thought about *******
on a green... or red...
Sichuan pepper-corn...
for the lip and tongue numbing sensation...
which i did...
       but as i was cleaning the house i knew it was
coming...
"knew"... eh... if she's working  days a week...
and she has a young daughter...
she's not going to make time for me...
even if i offer her oysters and lemon slices
in glasses of brandy... like the Russian girls drink it...
i shouldn't have been drinking...
but i was drinking... household chores...
good good...
      once i finished i got on my bicycle
and turned into a Kamikaze...
               because i was like: **** it...
i cycled to Barking knocked on a door of a hotel
i was hoping to spend the night in...
no reply...
                   well then... on my way back
i tortured myself...
that's the funny: "funny" aspect of ingesting alcohol
prior to exercise...
you get more energy...
          
by the time i got home i read the texts she wrote:
- i'm sorry baby today i whant relax i'm very tired
- livit for tomorrow please
- no problem, i'm sort of busy myself (too)...
just relax... i'll text you tomorrow afternoon...

i am: a complete and utter idiot...
she a single mum ******* and i'm willing to
fathom a relationship with her...
but i know how this works...
i get rejected for all the right reasons...
am i the problem?
countless times i thought about it like so...
but... enough times and you start to wonder...
this "mea culpa" is not clarifying things for me
enough...
i guess it has become less of me and more
of them... after all: i'm the detached bachelor
that's free to roam between supposed no-go
zones of East London... i cycle into Barking and think
very little of the fact that i'm in the minority
of ethnic display... hell: even the racial display...

i look at the Muslim girls and try to think
what they're thinking...
Scandinavian genes...
   exotica...
                 not really... but...
if one Muslim is holding a Quran and tries
to turn me into a proselyte...
   the "clock" starts ticking...

                  even if not tomorrow...
   i won't care...
           it was a stretch of a hope that i might just...
i'll just torture myself on the bicycle
once more... paint the garden fence
a nice burnt amber... evened oak...
     and life will just go on as it has always gone...
i understand the practicality of a woman...
mind you: i understand the practicality
of a man...
     i'm not willing to share my resources...
i don't have enough time to share: either...
although... the idiotic me could be convinced to...
surrogate a child...
   esp. since she has a daughter... although...
either or... yes or no...
                 daughter... son... makes little difference
if it's no my genes invoked...
i'd feel less guilty should i **** it up...

          yes... so far so good... the bed i made?
not too bad...
     but that's the beauty of cycling when slightly tipsy...
it reminds me of rock-climbing without
any assurance of being spotted...
                     that's what put me off reproducing...
the science of: once a man has children
his risk-adventure-adrenaline-cocktail fades...
i can't imagine giving up my testosterone levels...
obviously they'll fade...
    but... i can't imagine... just giving them
up... sacrificing them on the altar of furthering "my" genes:
which... by the time i'd be in touch with my grand-children
i'd be looking at a QUARTER...
of what i already am in view of my grandfather's
quarter...           ¼
                      1/4

                no obvious answer on the internet... i'm not going
to start digging...
                
i can't be angry... i'm actually thinking she's authentically
tired...
     or perhaps she wants to take a day
off to glam herself up...
   whatever the reasons: true or not...
                 or she just wants to have a day off and spend
it with her daughter...
         but even if this is a rejection:
which she actually invested herself in: the idea of meeting
outside of the brothel...
hell... why should i be invested in
any sort of "rejection"? the clarity of transaction
has already been stated...
this was simply going to be a mythological bonus...

it's so relieving... because there's already an immediacy
of honesty... the text she sent me was transparent...
i wasn't ghosted... after all...
she knows that i know where she works
and i already served up my deal-breaker of oral
*** and it's not like she will so willingly refuse to
enjoy my company.