feels a bit like there are cleansing rites of passage running amok inside my brainhouse department, thoughts going down memory lane, vividly remembering my last couple of nights of passion with Michella though a more intimate domestic arrangement is out of the question as I made it clear the last dreaded morning after...
A bottle of Spar house wine, color red in my hand, waiting patiently in the queue while my thoughts go down the aforementioned memory lane, not a bad way to while away the enevitable line of working stiffs coming out of the office and desperate to get home at this advanced hour of the afternoon. or is 18.45 h. considered the early hours of the evening...
The frontiers of passion that were there for us to penetrade, have as always in my life been terminated with extreme prejuidice....
An occupational suicide in my existence I guess!!!
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