Sunday Mornings Are Dangerous

“Why don’t you come back to bed?” she asked.

“I just love a cold beer in the morning,” I said.

“Have you ever considered the fact that you’re an alcoholic?”

“Are you trying to convince yourself I’m no good?” I replied when I lit a cigarette.

She stared at me with those dark green eyes of her. Rather scary.

“Why don’t you crawl over here and suck my cock? On your hands and knees. And while you’re at it, try to lift your gorgeous ass a bit.”

She smiled. “Really?”

“Yes woman, seriously. Do it.”

She moved like some cat. I knew I was in trouble.

“Now what?” she asked when she stood in front of me. She grabbed the L&M out of my mouth and smoked it. “Why don’t you kiss me down there?” she whispered.

“It will be my pleasure, babe.”

(2018, and she refers to her vagina as ‘down there’… Nothing ever changes. At least not overnight. Change takes time. Lots of time. More time than I have been given.)

Later that day

“I really have to go,” she said.

“So go.”

“Alright. Try to eat something. And get out of the apartment, get some fresh air. Leave the painting and writing for tomorrow. Nobody cares anyway.”

“You are a bit young to be my mother,” I said. “Before you go, do me a favor. Get me some cigarettes and a few beers please. Try to get at least 2 cold ones. Don’t take the ING card, it’s blocked. Don’t even ask. Money laundering. Do you fucking believe that?! Half of the population is out on the streets protesting corruption and my account they block. I’m pretty much done with this country. Take the ABN AMRO. Thank you. And I need a picture for the blog. I don’t want to have that shit again I had last week.”

“Pff, the things I do for you. What’s the code?”

“Nice try, honey. You don’t need the code for that amount. It’s just touch and go. Like you.”

“Sometimes I really hate you, man.”

“Thanks baby, you are a star.”

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