In
the garish glow of the hallway fluorescents Hounslow hands Moloch’s lead to
Frances Bell. The Labrador takes the park
smell of conifer and compost inside. Hounslow
touches his top button looking down at her tall wooden wedges. She always wears good shoes.
‘You coming in Hounslow?’ She bobs to one side and red wine in the
balloon glass swirls. Her eyes dance anywhere
but him.
‘No.’ Laying awake next to her he found her
small snores ugly and her rainbow crowd of stuffed animals fixed him with blank
button eyes.
Frances
shuts the door yawning like a waking tom cat.
He’d not long put one out but he rolls
another cigarette anyway and leaves the bright hallway down carpeted
stairs. Hounslow lets himself out the
ground floor security door by a glossy cheese plant. He is done for the night.
No comments:
Post a Comment