flibble flobble

His thumb caressed his bottom lip whilst his fingers gently held a cigarette. His head tilted to one side partly to avoid the smoke entering his eye, but also to enhance his jaw. Furrowed brow hinting at a kindly malcontent, complemented by a perfect crop of golden hair stood to attention with a whiff of gel. Every so often she would look up and glance in his direction. Twice now she had spilled the coffee as she poured. Her attention was diverted for once. The air hung heavy and the clock nearly stopped. The frying bacon mixed with the men's cigarette smoke and created a tangy smog. The hazy light served only to make him more attractive. His lips pursed around the cigarette and she watched the smoke stream from his mouth and nose. He was tempted to blow a ring and she watched as he checked himself. He left soon after. She stared at his jeaned behind as he walked out of the door. The sunshine swallowing him up. Her muscles tensed to run after him. She could introduce herself, ask him for a date, where was he going? Her shoulders sagged and her head dropped and she returned to the fryer.

The man slumped over the counter. Rolls of fat emerged from his vest like saturate oozing from a cooked meat pie. His black hair was coarse with a dirty bald patch creeping outward like a cancer. His eyes red, piqued by drink and his face sallowed with woe. 'Another coffee.' He holds out his cup in stained fingers. She makes sure she doesn't touch any when she reaches for the cup. The machine hums and whirrs. There's a pause and then the familiar couple of bangs as it goes about its overly complicated process. All that bother for a cup of coffee that tastes like shit in the end anyway? Pays the bills though. Always pays the bills.

Mopping the floor, 'I want to see your face in it!'the manager's kind words of encouragement! 'Not the goddamm bleach, the floor cleaner, here in this bucket. This ain't a fucking hospital you know!' His idea of a joke, and he smiles, crooked teeth some black, others yellow, none white. A cigarette dangling loosely, stuck onto his lip as if with glue. 'Fucking waitressess all the same, dumb as shit,' he mumbles as he walks away. Did he mean for her to hear that, does it matter, should she challenge him, sue him, hit him, walk out?

The car comes alive eventually. It's rotten on its wheels. Rust has crept into places it shouldn't have and the car wheezes with emphysema. Her soft murmurs of encouragement echo the words a nurse whispers to her patient as he slips into the dustbowl. Good energy is all the car survives on and there isn't much left of that. The wet streets slip by, faceless shapes dot their corners as the neon lighting casts futuristic patterns within the rain slicks. The car jolts along and appreciates the layer of soft rain between it and the unflinching road. The water parts before it like a welcoming vulva.

Breathing deeply now at home. Car exhausted in the drive. Lights on in the lounge. Her heart hammers in her chest. Tries to relax. Counts to ten a few times. She waits for the light to go out and then waits a bit more. Legs slowly walking up the drive. Heels clicking too loudly on the tarmac she bends and takes them off. Never mind about the wet feet she tells herself. Her key eases open the lock and she's inside, leaning against the door and only just breathing. In the kitchen she can rest a second. She drinks a glass of milk and ignores her tremors. Invisibly she treads into the bedroom and slips off her clothes and stands shivering in her panties before sliding noiselessly into bed next to the mound beside her. It stirs and she freezes. Jaw locked staring at the ceiling. The mound groans and moves and then all is quiet and she breathes again until after a time she drifts, wraithlike between this world and the subconscious. Fear grips every fibre of her soul.