Play For Today

by brightonsauce

 

[Small adjustments with commas mainly, very irritating is the draft process, my arts.]

[Smoking hot, fresh off the pen, draft zero]

Finally I had defeated Big Blue in a complex game of  Chinese Chequers.  I leaned in my chair, stroked this fine chin, understood how people like me would one day inherit the multiverse.

What to do with my discovery, I thought, maybe go back to the billiards on-line, maybe? I thought, and needed new challenge –   [now] hunched before the screen, and topless, tits rested on woodwork.  If only they were real tits of my own, not plastic imitation, tribute tits from the joke shop.  No, I’ll never have tits, I sobbed, but shall call them bosoms from now on, I think so, I said.  Look at the pitfalls, I said…

And recalled a dreadful day.  My large wife stood in our street, gave directions to the tiny policeman.  She twisted, swiped his helmet with that left mammary, her gland of fury.  My wife arrested, looking at a six month stretch, she said.  AT least she will have her bosoms inside, for defence, offence, I said, she don’t need no shank, but what about me, alone, gourmet for one occasions, the single candle flickered, melted down to her release date, April 1st 2015, when she punched her fist into the high air outside Holloway prison.  I was there, scooped into our motorcar, my legs dangled from the passenger window.  Take me to the woods somewhere nearby, I said.  I will do my duty.

Afterwards, we smoked in the dirt, steam rose from dirt, our loveplay – created a haze like moths, I myself was still giddy.

She turned, her gangster cigar on her lips.

‘Burger,’ she said, ‘I want burger.  Six years inside I need Burger King.’

And me I collected my shorts, put legs, my pencil back into shorts, hopped behind the wheel of the Aston Martin motor car, shifted up then to the passenger side, and we motored up the motorway for her burger [king].

 

 

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