Fri 5 Dec, 2008
He believed he was already on his knees at their first encounter.
The first thing he saw of her could have been up her skirt. He really only saw her legs though, but that was a knowledge he alone knew, a secret he wouldn’t admit to anyone for fear of being damned.
He was smoking at the landing. A stool, probably provided for smokers, was present, and a convenient ashtray. It was the end of the month, and he was so broke that when he carelessly dropped his half-consumed cigarette, he got down on his knees to retrieve it.
When the door by the higher landing creaked open, he was in the most favorable position to glance round and up Yin May’s microskirt. Immediately, though, he jerked his head away out of an inexplicable sense of decency and forced his eyes back to the floor. As her fragrance and the sound of her heels rang closer, he began to put up a miserable act of looking for something small, possibly his lenses (why he would do that he couldn’t explain – he gathered it was the net effect of having watched too many soap operas), bowing low and feeling all over the floor frantically.
It was only after the sound faded that he dared look up. She was no longer in sight, but her perfume lingered. Together with the resident cigarette smell, it intoxicated him.
Outside, a gruff searching voice summoned him.
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