Turnedup trousers. It is. It is.
His heart quopped softly.
- To the right.
- Museum.
- Goddesses.
He swerved to the right.
Is it? Almost certain. Won’t look. Wine in my face. Why did I? Too heady. Yes, it is. The walk. Not see. Not see. Get on.
Making for the museum gate with long windy strides he lifted his eyes.
Handsome building. Sir Thomas Deane designed.
Not following me?
Didn’t see me perhaps. Light in his eyes.
The flutter of his breath came forth in short sighs. Quick.
Cold statues: quiet there.
Safe in a minute.
No, didn’t see me. After two. Just at the gate.
My heart!
His eyes