One Hundred and Nineteen.

29/4/14

Izzy circle

izzy

Sometimes I wish there was a ‘god hotline’ so I’d have someone to talk to when I’m bored or lonely. I guess those hottie hotlines are kind of the same thing so I pick up the phone and I dial. She answers the phone breathy and sweet and not talking shit. There’s only one reason people call these lines I guess. She tells me her name is Amanda, but she says it slowly, like she’s sucking on it, “Uhhhmaaaahn-da.” That’s probably not her real name. She tells me she is blonde and 5 foot 6 inches and I wonder what she really looks like. I don’t really know what to say, so I tell her I’m just sitting in my room and she says, “me too,” and then she tells me she’s wearing an oversized t-shirt and underpants so I tell her I’m wearing jeans and a hoodie. That I didn’t bother to put on a t-shirt or a bra. She sounds mildly surprised that I’m a woman. I guess you can’t always tell from the voice. She says I must be “kinky”. I ask her what her favourite TV program is, and she says Masterchef. I think she picked that because everyone watches it. It’s a safe bet for conversation. It’s spicy, there is a lot of potential for fantasy in the kitchen. I don’t watch Masterchef. I tell her I like watching cop dramas. That this is my guilty pleasure when I cannot sleep. Eventually we run out of chat and we just sit and breathe, not saying anything. Like teenagers. I’m still paying by the minute, so what does it matter if I don’t want to speak? She is probably on the other side of the world or something but she feels close.

*

Sarah circle

sarah

Five steps through the door was all it took
Jeans so tight they’d strangle your mother
Boots burned on the soles from a thousand ground down cigarette butts
Backlit like a demon, guitar whammy in his voice
One nod to the bar and there’s a beer in his hand
And fifteen women slide their feet apart
Mrs Friedman, eighty-five, panting in a corner
Sweat rolls saucily down the neck of every man
He flicks a cigarette to his lips, lights it
Breathes the smoke right into the detector
And strides away just as the sprinklers start to pour

*

Advertisements

Have words to throw back at us?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s