The waitress boils a pot of tea and fetches a slice of caramel shortbread, a favourite of mine since childhood. The waitress is attractive. Brunette with wholesome hips, though for some reason she doesn’t like me. It’s in her eyes. A silent type of disdain I know all too well. Maybe it’s the beard, or that I’m in a coffee shop ordering tea showing no interest in their finest selection of exotic beans. Not very modern. Not very hip. And she looks hip, which is why she hates me. Sitting down in the corner, I drink my unfashionable cuppa and read a newspaper. Full of shit, it is. Celebrities and white-teethed women from TV with big tits plastered all over its pages along with news regarding the royal wedding and some serial killer plaguing the cobbles of Coronation Street. When I’m done, I walk past the waitress and give her a smile and nod as she takes someone’s order, but she just looks the other way. Outside there’s traffic and kids on their school holidays. Little feral fuckers pinching from stores and heckling those trying to intervene. The sun shines and blinds me but it’s cold and my bones ache. End up popping into a small convenience store and pick up some beer and sweets. Yeah. In my mind I’m still at Uni. My diet has never progressed beyond alcohol and Haribo. Back at mine I cook a frozen pizza and drink another tea while having a cigarette. Blowing smoke out the kitchen window, a cat appears in the garden, dances around in circles for a bit then goes elsewhere. When the pizza’s cooked I eat it on my bed with the tele on. Don’t usually watch it but can’t be bothered to do anything else. When I’m done, I remove my clothes and lie there naked looking up at the ceiling. After clearing my mind, I think of X. I picture her on her belly with the fingers of my right hand spreading her wide as the heels of her feet bounce together. One then two then three of my fingers go in, and the deeper I go, the more she shakes and trembles at my touch until she begs me to give her the real thing. Picturing her tongue and the fullness of her lower lip, her eyes lock onto mine but then Countdown comes on so I sit up and try to prove to myself I’m intelligent by beating the contestants by finding longer words than they do, but I just end up falling asleep.
Author S. K. Nicholas 
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