She’s like every autumnal daydream, but with hairier armpits and an infected toe. The white bandage, yellowing in spots, pokes out like an eager tumour from open heels. We walk hand in hand but yards apart, because I’ll interfere with her wings apparently…. oh fucking whatever, woman. I roll my eyes so often I can feel Sisyphus struggling on my eyelashes. On the bright side, we can swallow up a busy pavement, sending old people on mobility scooters into oncoming traffic; taking out little kids with no awareness of how hard two fists clamped together with love can be to break.
We eat ice cream in a seaside town, and she laughs at topless old men with pubes on their chest, skin peeling at the shoulders and scrags of chips in the nipples like savoury piercings. We watch the gentle hiss of the sea as it approaches the bathers…
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