and out the the oil-liquid sheen of wobbled glass
i see a man
meet a night lady
in
the
blink
of a condom
they
walk
six feet apart
to a cash point in a red brick wall
women
club drunk
in tight pale denim blotched like snake skin
round the corner
with a tall man hung with bags
all talking loud and lazy
saying things ending in YOU
the night lady keeps a wide birth from the cash man
and
points the way ahead of her
and no one
looks up here
at me
the black shape in a hotel window
chewing my pen
and drinking my
drink
dodging truths and smiles
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