City
It's been raining for seventy two hours in London. Daylight pitches into darkness by four o'clock. The tree outside my window - the huge screening tree that obviates the need for curtains - is bare.
"Bare ruined choirs". Do I notice this. Do I buggery.
Last night, preparing to go out, I'm dancing my little heart out in my strapless bra and knickers while drying my hair in the kitchen. I glance over at the big window. Without a leafy screen, I look directly into the startled eyes of Bloke Opposite, all too obviously dancing his little heart out while ironing in his blue underpants.
Aw.
My eyes snap back down, shifty, horrified, and I crab-walk out of there.
Updated: Sunday, 23 November 2003 2:14 PM GMT
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