Leaning against the front window of the now-defunct milk bar,
We contemplated temporal pauperism.
Cigarettes in hand we lamented about holidays taken months before,
Yet we strained to remember events from the past 6 days.
Killing the butt with one steady twist of the foot
I shivered when skin and pre-winter chill made contact.
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At night I responded to someone else's leads.
Driving past ill-positioned roundabouts and intrusive cyclists
We had Greek for dinner and a bottle of cabernet sauvignon for laughs.
Still bickering with the flu bug
I kept my hands in coat pockets.
Marvelling at the potency of alcohol as a congenial lubricant
We traded stories - of escape and make-believe.
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This winter I want vintage floral dresses and cigarette jeans.
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