She passed me this afternoon in the street while I waited for a bus at the bus stop.
In the wake of her passing there is this feminine waft left lingering, eddying gently in aromatic swirls invisible to the naked eye – but - I could smell in it the peachiest scent, and, mixed with that, the universal musk of a woman just off the blob and ready to mate.
It were only when she passed did I pay any notice of her. This smell of her's led my senses in a lusty and fidgety imagined pursuit, like it were a pornographic Pied Piper and my nose an erotically curious tween.
I watched her arse shift, roll and swing in the summery shirt dress she were wearing loosely. I imagined placing hands on those sweet, round arse cheeks of her's, squeezing so's to check that they made nice soft cushions for my lips to plant themselves on in wet, pink kisses.
I wondered what her name was, then from behind me I noticed the mad hard footfall of a running child, and then a child came running past me. It were a girl.
- Deidre, Deidre, - she shouted, - Mummy said 'Get Milk!' - And my question were answered.
Then the bus I were waiting for came and I got on it.
I went and stood in Fountain Lane, in a doorway with a baseball cap before me. I sang the first two lines of the chorus of Beyonce/Sasha Fierce's recent hit 'Sweet Dreams'
“(turn the lights on) Sweet Dream or a Beautiful Nightmare/Either way, I don't wanna wake up from you (turn the lights on)”
I screamed this out, over and over again like a loud turned up CD that were jumping. I didn't know any of how the rest of the track went. I had had it stuck in my head all day and so went in for a bit of impromptu busking, as I thought: Why not?
Suffice to say not much coinage came my way. One oul fucker with two gimpy legs, like God'd attached them back to front, even had the temerity to come over and say,
- Here! Yer destined for the nuthouse, you!
- Away and die, - I went.
So it ended up I got a brainwave and got on a bus out to the sticks.
My brainwave went thusly: Out in the sticks, usually far back down some lane and sandwiched between very respectable and well kept detached houses you will find, without a hassle, an Old Peoples' Hospice/Nursing Home. I would enter the first one of these I found and go to the old person's room nearest the exit. It was also imperative that the elderly person's room were on the ground floor as well (lest a relative disturb me or the oldie raises a fuss. Both cases I've to go out the window). I would pull my hat down over my face in case of CCTV.
And this is what I did:
I found an old people's home out somewhere, - where I won't say. I entered it through the main entrance at the side and located the closest old person's room, which was approximately 15 foot down a hall, which was located to my immediate left as I went in.
I knocked and entered the room. An old lady, whose loose-skinned and wrinkly face resembled a bootprint in the mud, looked from the carpet and smiled at me.
- Hello, granny! - I went.
- Hello, Fanny! How are you this fine summer's afternoon?
- Not so bad, granny. I have been worse. But I doubt you've been?!
- Oh. You are a cad, Maurice!
- That's what fame's me!
- Yes, sir!
We spent the rest of the afternoon discussing her duties as a WREN during WW2. I told he a story about how I got a job on a trawler off the Donegal Coast, but got fired after the first day after I got seasick and demanded they turn back and let me off. - I told them, - I told the old doll, - that if they didn't I'd throw myself overboard!
- What an adventurer you are, Pervis.
- Yes, granny, but not a very brave one. Maybe a very queasy one. Why they had me gutting the fish right there on the deck. That combined with the smell of the gasoline in their gasoline engine had me nearly losing my dinner, granny!
- ...Oh, yes. You're a great one for the adventures. Me? I've never had any adventures. Never lived in 'interesting times'.
Granny sat staring at me for a long time. She then said: - I'm not well up on all the drugs you young people are on nowadays.
- Well as a matter of fact, that's why I'm here for, Granny. It seems to me you are on a lotta drugs to keep you well, but we're all on a lotta drugs now, granny. There's a lot of us need a lotta drugs to keep us well. Some in the body and some in the mind. The thing is granny, a man of my age still has to pay for his drugs, but the communists stole my money from me this morning -
- Oh those communists. They are a bad lot.
- Yes. They sent out their paramilitary forces, in the guise of the IRA -
- Another shower -
- Sent them out and they stole my money...now, granny, you always told me that if I came up short, or if the communists stole my money you would help me out. I see your bag down there under your chair. I am going to take some money from it. Then I'll be on my way.
- You do that, my boy. I know what kind of scoundrels those communists are, and their IRA would make Belsan look like Butlins!
- That's correct, granny, - I went as I rifled through her purse, my vision blurry from the guilt.
My entire haul was £82.75 in notes, pound coins and shrapnel.
I decided to walk home, entertaining the thought in my mind while I went of using some of the cash to take Deidre out on a date.
But it was only a airy teenage fantasy.