It’s not right…
It’s not f*****g right.
right.Walking out, I choose my route, trudging through the swelter of the City summer afternoon, keeping to the shade wherever I can. Even so, it’s exhausting.
Leaning back against a wall for a breather, I inhale air sticky with traffic fumes, then curse as the heat of the brickwork penetrates my clothes. I might as well be resting against a boiler. Under my soles, asphalt and concrete radiate up, until my feet feel like slabs of meat.
It does nothing to improve my mood.
Jerking upright again, I continue my walk, trying to throw off a kind of gritty depression. Normally, after I’ve paid her, I’m relaxed. Euphoric. Almost cleansed.
her,This time, I"m empty.
It just wasn’t right.
right.Cheating Chestnut with her cheating, faked hair.
fakedI
