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Don’t notice. Please not that. Then I abandon my eyes to keep heaves from my back. I almost hear his eyes scanning above. It’s alright, he says touching my arm. Adds no more or else to that, for which I am grateful, as soon after for his gentle snore.
    Sometimes this night I sleep as well. Sometimes contrast my Was that usual? with I’m only the latest after all and maybe next time? Shut up. I’d turn but can’t because he lies there and how deep is his deep? So hours rise heeding curtains and the roustabout street below. Heels clacking, laughing You tight cunt! So if I am? I’m still waiting. Well you’ll wait a long time!Shrieking now, then laughing until wee wee all the way home. And sirens belting to, or speeding fro, like London’s alive in another time of its own. On towards five, banging at his door. Next one mate, he shouts until they go. Fucking Saturdays, he says back asleep before the weed smells or bottles bash in the street. But all this cheers me, picks me up. Slips me to my new world. If sleep would only come and against me, the long thin man. Alive. A-sleeping. In. And I drift in under where
    She walks the tongue of the world, narrow as a road.
    Far below where earth is and where fire goes.
    Unrippled now.
    Weeds.
    Dry and frei.
    But the weight of.
    Banished poor famished eyes
    lake music
    Fuck!
    Morning.
    Fuck! he wakes like a scare. What? Sorry, I forgot you were there. And I lie by him. Shy by him. Sorry, he repeats but ingentle, unpersonal, prying himself cock from bottom, toe from sole. Sweat where he’s laid against me although the room burns cold. Christ I ache, he yawns This bed’s too fucking small for one never mind about two. Can I use your toilet? I ask. Yeah, you know the drill.
    He is lovely indifferent when I come in. Leant on his desk. Steam and smoke wreathing. Cigarette? No thanks. Tea there, hot mind. Thanks. Sit and slurp. Are you alright? Fine. No, I meant    after last night? Fine, I maintain for what can he want? Bulletins on bruising or how there’s still blood? I just, he says God I’m wrecked. Yawns it. Shears it. Bye to the night. I stareat his Chekhov but can’t help asking Who’s that? Who? The photo on your desk. That’s m    my daughter. Oh, I say Are you married then? Does it look like I’m married? he laughs, offering the room. No    but    were you? No, what’s the time? Half eight. Shit! I’ve a meeting in town    sorry to rush you but. Don’t worry I’ll just get dressed. He picks up the towel I used last night then makes on out the door. And I steal a look at his daughter up close. Like him I think. Eyes and mouth. Three? Four? Who knows how old children are? Sneak a drag on his fag. No. Get dressed before he’s back and you’ll be. shy. So to the end. Clothes again. Uncover his underpants but it was last night he looked for them. No matter. Old fag smoke against the new, I race my clothes back on.
    Do you need the sink? No. Then I’ll have a shave. Dripping hair. Towel round his waist reaching for his fag in such one-track haste I’m an emptiness fastening her shoes. Button my coat. He lathers up. Well, good luck with your audition. Just a meeting – to the glass – But thanks    and also    for last night. You’re welcome, I say. He smiles to my reflection then starts to shave. And I wish that I was someone else, a girl with words behind her face, not this one done up like a stone in herself. You won’t see him ever again . Fuck it, this, and all anyway. Before I can’t, I go wrap my arms round his waist and say, nose into his damp shoulder blades Thank you for not being a bastard last night      for being kind to me. Silence. He and. I. Have I bad chanced? Peek round his shoulder but in the mirror his eyes take up mine, most surprised. Gentle of day forgetting the night. That’s