the sweet funk of getting high, lost in the languid web... ...the whole shabang really... and Amber had just finished explaining something I'd not really heard for the thoughts on Isobel and our first meet: pissing into the porcelain sink, I'm soon eye funking a woman, Isobel, Persian looking: dark hair as midnight, dark olive sun kissed skin with lips opening and closing forming only perceptible words as: ...ain't that a lovely Dick... drunk responses laden with amber lights, I hadn't run a red as of yet, because she was responding whilst entering into the stool and latching the door, the drum-beat sound of the lock like that in my head, dah dum... dah dum... I'd continued to speak through the stool's door, seeing underneath to her feet in polished black hi heels, and the slight edge of knickers around her sweet ankles... —...I'd reckon it's quite nice to not have to piss in silence... —...I wouldn't want that, I think I said, though memories distort: they move about all tectonic, especially stood outside that stool holding a half vanquished pint of Beer... but she soon unlatched the lock and waddled out of the stool pulling down her bright orange dress over her bare thonged bottom... washing her hands in the sink, but being very careful not to touch anything, I noticed that much, a noted possible hygeine freak, and then I opened the door for her, whilst we spoke about a Transgendered woman that had been drunk and raving about discrimination,
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
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