At times writing is effortless. Other times nightmarish. But it's always therapeutic.


with one comment

Thin leather straps of the Burgundy handbag coiled around my arm and halted its fall. I passed it over and alighted. The bus made its way again into the traffic. “Sorry.” “Yes?” I enquired, my eyebrows raising. “Here.” I took the cuff link from the heavily ringed thumb and fore finger and fastened my shirt. “Thanks,” I said. “Oh no. I should be thanking you for catching my handbag. Thank you.” “Eh, ok. Sorry, what’s your name?” She was beautiful, I could feel.

I thought I did blush but did not wait to confirm. Just then the lights had turned red and we jumped into the road, the whole crowd, eyes darting left and right. “Estelle.” she almost shouted.

I would have asked more but for the man into whose sticking arms she flew, immediately upon stepping on the yellow kerb.


Written by coldturkey

October 27, 2009 at 11:21 PM

Posted in looking

One Response

Subscribe to comments with RSS.

  1. 🙂

    PS: the above smile is the chesire cat type. The kind that says, “You so do not want to know what I’m thinking.”


    June 6, 2012 at 12:37 PM

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: