3/02/2004
 
The cab driver took stock of the situation and surprisingly didn't mind taking a hideously drunk man in his car. I throw J in the back and have to scrunch up his legs so I can shut the door.
“Angel,” I tell the cabby. We have to stop for money but each cash machine helpfully informs me that they are “unable to dispense.” Finally we find a machine flush with cash and in a few minutes we pull up outside my flat.

After negotiating the stairs with J (the image of the landlord finding us in a pile at the bottom gives me sudden super human strength) I prop him up against a wall while I open the door. Inside finally, I throw him on the bed, take off his shoes and run to grab a sick bowl. My foresight pays off and in a few moments he’s leaning over the bowl while I hold the hair away and wipe the spit with a towel. J groans and rolls onto his back.
“What do you do for a job?” I ask him, not really expecting a response.
“Prostitute” He mumbles, turning to lie on his stomach.

At 1pm I wake up. J is sitting, taking in his new surroundings.
“Hey,” I say, sleepily.
“Hi. Where am I?” J asks.
“Angel.”
He mulls this over, massaging his brow. He turns to look at me.
“Why are you wearing all your clothes?”
Because I needed to be fully clothed in case you tryed to stab me in the night - or in case I get arrested for abduction and rape.
“Oh, I didn’t get time to change.”
J looks at the sleeping bag that lies over the mattress.
“Oh god, I didn’t…”
“Yup.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Hey, no problem. I’ll wash the sheets - it’ll be fine.”
He lays back down and turns to look at me.
“My Angel in Angel,” he coos, and I wonder how I can still find someone so attractive after they’ve puked all over my arm and pissed in my bed.

“What happened after that?” Kate asks, packing away her records; music off, lights up.
“We had breakfast. He called his boyfriend. Said he was a student but didn’t mention what he was studying. We had a really nice time, just chilled and then he went home.”
“Do you think you’ll see him again?”
“I don’t think so. He seemed a little… complicated. He said he was going to invite me over for dinner but…”
“And you didn’t have sex with him?”
“Nope.”
She closes both the latches on her record bag.
“Mr Davies,” she says, handing me the bag to carry, “I think someday you might just go to Heaven.”
 

Yeah, yeah, email me

ARCHIVES
09/2003 / 10/2003 / 11/2003 / 12/2003 / 01/2004 / 02/2004 / 03/2004 / 04/2004 / 05/2004 / 06/2004 / 07/2004 / 08/2004 / 09/2004 / 10/2004 / 11/2004 / 12/2004 / 01/2005 / 02/2005 / 03/2005 / 04/2005 / 05/2005 / 06/2005 / 07/2005 / 08/2005 / 09/2005 / 10/2005 / 11/2005 / 12/2005 / 01/2006 /


sites what I write on:
londonist

sites what I wrote on:
über: I haven't been completely honest
somewhat.org: on the up

blogs:

christopher
elizabeth

boys:

tlc
homorobotic
sex, lies & videotape
diamond geezer
vivid blurry
raw youth
secret simon
learn swedish
the rob log
why god why
a beautiful revolution

girls:

dooce
afrochic
belle de jour
pound
jems web
lindsayism

pulse:

timmy ray
link bunnies
link machine go

fantastic blogs:

a light fantastic
a chair fantastic
a rug fantastic
a kitchen fantastic
a bed fantastic
a clock fantastic

tools:

life hacker
i hate work
hi-gloss film production



Powered by Blogger
Listed on Blogwise

Listed on BlogShares
Subscribe to my feed

« #Veggie Blogs?»

«#Blogging Brits?»