Dinosaur

By Lisa Derrick

I felt elated when Deidre agreed to meet at a Service Station Café. We made contact on Clandestine but Classy, which both of us surfed when our spouses were asleep.

“The one off junction six,” she whispered. We progressed from e-mails to phone. “Life is short,” she murmured.

I wore my favourite dinosaur tie. She brought a blanket on which we made love in the back of her 1960s Caravelle.

“I’m sorry, Aubrey,” she wrote the next night. “You aren’t my type. I’m looking for someone more modern.”

I wept tears of disappointment into my Pterodactyl handkerchief before again clicking Search.