And Then?

Swollen. Like the coffee lady's ego. What a woman. Janelle is her name. She was hot enough to melt the pyramids, making the desert sun seem cold by comparison, lighting camels on fire with no intent to sell cigarettes. Where as I, dumba**ified on my bed,  was drowning in a tear-filled lake flaccid. I saw her, at my weakest moment, walk into my life one stocking covered leg at a time.  

The things I would do to her if I could only move would make any man of the cloth kneel down promptly, say a few hail mary's and douse himself with an emergency vile of holy water. I'm not going to brag to myself however. As much as I may be delusional I do at least know that I'm talking to myself.

"Woulda, coulda, shoulda, you ignorant b!t*!"

The prick half of me decided to chime in, wonderful. This is getting more schizophrenish than I had expected. Well maybe you're right, prick prickly. In the meantime shut the f*** up while I make another attempt at brightening my dismal mood. 

She left yesterday. I scribbled good bye onto the note pad and watched her fold it neatly into her pocket. She was all I had for personal comfort. As soon as she turned away from view I let my mind's eye sketch her in motion, walking down the corridor, catching eyes as she drove home, intimately undressing in front of her bedroom mirror.

She danced in my mind for three days. And for three days I saw only her.

The End

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