"Wonderful day!" she called it, the spring day we met in Victoria Square.
"Beautiful day," I corrected her, then "No. You're right."
The skin of her forearm was gold. My forearm, by contrast, was pink. We held hands while she programmed my new cell.
Monday she reciprocated my text.
Tuesday?
Wednesday?
Thursday?
Friday?
Saturday?
Sunday?
Of course, after lunch, we'd gone to her brothel. "Angel has a little tail!" cried the mama-san; we'd held hands on the street within range of the monitors.
{NA}
>> posted by John Psmyth
• 4/25/2005 08:04:00 PM
•
2 comments
2 Comments:
Holding hands makes you Angel's tail, eh? I have much to learn of brothel lingo! Kind of cute, though. I think.
I'm not sure whether it is brothel lingo or just a metaphor from the mama-san!