They were always right, and she was always wrong. She should have never succumbed to a poet’s life. More than anything she craved the normal life—...s normal as the subdivisions of dense suburban sprawl, the stately colonial homes quaint, clean, and sharp like the edges of expensive stationary, and as she drove up the length of the driveway to her house on the knoll, she spotted her father cutting the lawn from his tractor and her mother pruning flowers in a new garden she cultivated earlier in. I watch the air hostess, the main object of my immediate lust, enter a librairie and browse the books. I realise that if she’s going to read, in a caf?ar for example, I could easily approach her there. My twitching cock hardens up a little more and my predator’s instinct self-tunes up a gear or two.I need to empty my bladder in readiness, so I leave her alone for a while; I can always find her again in that uniform. I piss and have a smoke in the toilets – it’s not allowed but I don’t give a. More

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