The Date.
Sat in a pub talking to a woman of no substance
other than she wore a skirt and had *****.
Pub closed, I was allowed
to follow her home
through dreary streets
fine rain and yellow street light.
I kissed her dry, bloodless lips
We parted.
Walking back to the ******´s hotel.
She stood by a bombed-out church and had damp hair.
This is too absurd
again; I was at a place I didn´t want to be.
Money changed hands.
My loneliness laughed hysterically.