My feet clap on the pavement. Last night’s sweat-salted clothes crinkle against my skin. Head swollen, eyes down, I block the sun with my hand. One step after another.
It comes back in strobe flashes. The throbbing techno pulse. Our gazes connecting across the bar. A drink. A dance. A tangle of limbs in the cab.
I touch my throat where the love-mark has swelled. It’s a turtleneck day.
Home is in sight. Mad Irish Mary, my downstairs neighbor, is collecting the paper. She looks me over and frowns.
“Well, Mr. Robson,” she says. “I see you had a long night.”
Great imagery. Perfect last line. Loved it!
wonderful living images and an arc in so few words!
Ah…the walk of shame, and always seen by someone you prefer not to…