'What do you do?' She asked with apparent genuine interest. 'I'm a poet.' I lied. I was really a data input clerk with a fantasy tobe a poet. An Engl...sh BA honours failed. My problem was my penchant for thevices. At university I was too interested in experiencing my own Xanadu thanreading about Coleridge's and seducing my own Coy Mistress than contemplatingMarvel's. I was in Rotterdam for the poetry festival. 'Interesting.' she said. 'Not really.' I replied acting nonchalantly. 'I'm a. As she walked, it split nearly to the hip with each step. She left her sandals in the fitting room, padding barefoot down the carpeted hall. ‘Well, sweetie, what do you think?’ ‘Wow, that’s a nice outfit, Rebecca. I like it, a lot!’ ‘It’s a lovely outfit for a lovely lady,’ Mr. Barrett offered. He saw the puzzled look on her face and stood, offering his hand. ‘My name’s Barrett. I was just telling Andrew what a lucky man he was.’ ‘Thank you, sir. I’m Rebecca.’ It suddenly occurred to her that. More

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