In France, they kiss on main street
Well back in good old east (of) dulwich. I look across the gardens from my £750 a month studio and think about paris. Terri cheered up a bit before I left. Last night we ended up in a club (can’t remember the name) and we danced like latin lovers in a disney cartoon.
When we got back to her tiny little flat in the seventeenth, she could barely walk up the stairs — I held her up and she put both arms around my waist which didn’t make our upward progress any easier. when we got in she collapsed on the sofa where I was supposed to be sleeping. i thought for a moment about just getting into her bed but, o i don’t know, i lifted her up and put her in it. I took her boots off — not as easy as i thought and left her to sleep in her clothes. As I left she said in a slurry voice, come here brad. then she said your a good man brad and pulled me towards her…i pulled away although…i don’t know.
In the morning she said nothing about it. I left about ten and she kissed me goodbye, in the Parisienne manor, on both cheeks, no lips necessary. As I got on the train at Gard du Nord, I had this awful feeling I’d left something behind. In her flat.
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