I came back to the room and before turning the handle heard voices. Demanding angrily, a mans voice, for the last time whose jacket and tie was it. Banging of furniture closet door I guess. What kind of wife are you shouted over and over. I thought how much did I want my jacket how much my tie. I had a gun in my pocket so wasnt going to lose but what of honey with her guilty knickers off? If a bullet or two started looking necessary Charlene or whatever her stupid wife name was had a gun too. Not did I want a hostile witness breathing down my neck every time I went to the John and my plans for this evening after my mothers funeral did not include pumping her full of led. I kept thinking what was in my pockets. Nothing I needed nothing incriminating; no photograph on a driving license as was in the limousine. Honey didnt know my name nor me hers. I believed this was her apartment now so knew how to write a letter about the jacket. Maybe get to meet somewhere else without her gun or maybe was a lighter. Maybe I was trying to believe I was feeling horny rather than mourn. Maybe it was time to go home. Oh, damn Id been given loads of cards of condolence. Maybe they had my mothers name on the envelope of one of them for sure. Maybe with some of those sticker gold labels saying who from – I was traceable after all. Looked like I was going in. Id given up smoking for several years but started again last week I needed my cigarettes maybe ask to use her lighter ask what all the fuss was about yea. I needed calming down.
Posted on: Wed, 03 Dec 2014 01:30:14 +0000
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