It meant to be a dinner — and a decent one, too. Wine, friendly chat, laugh. A cab and a good-bye kiss.
Can you lend me a T-shirt, please, she asks nicely as we come to my squat. Yet this is not the same girl who was leaving the restaurant just fifteen minutes ago. My lips were pressed to hers as soon as we left, her eyes widened and she had drown in forbidden passion, willingly and knowingly.
The lights are disapproving. There are the shadows of the real life again, at least for the moment. Can you lend me a T-shirt, please?
I pass her one, probably the shortest I've had around. She puts it on and leaves everything else by the bedpost. The lights go off.
I'm left with no time to think, no time to wonder, no time to hesitate. This does not seem to be just my overgrown fantasy. It's the real thing.
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