The bottle touched my lips. The liquid, finally being released from its brown glass tomb. The coolness of the liquid soothing my parched mouth. I fell back on the bed, dust billowing up in the air. The particles dancing in the sun light, toing and froing across the room. Dancing their waltz, entrancing me, surrounding me in their dance. I looked out of the window, down and along the street. I looked back around the room. Wallpaper pulling itself off the wall, the out-dated floral pattern fading and yellowing. The window sill cracked and covered in a layer of dust. The radio singing to itself in the corner, the TV sitting blank and vacant in the opposite corner. Still I had a bottle of wine left and the remains of the beer.
I picked myself up. Using string pulled the cords tight around my waist. Picking up my tattered satchel, I made my way out. Squinting against the light I made my way down the street. The glare off the pavement was making me feel sick. I tried to shade my eyes with my hand. Looking at the cracks, the weeds reaching up and heading for the heavens. The weeds trying to make the best of a hard world. I sat on the bench at the bus-stop.
Then coming off the bus came the finest pair of legs I ever saw. So smooth and perfectly proportioned, the sun shining on this little bit of heaven. She looked down and directly towards me, disappointment crossed her face. Goodbye to my cinnamon girl.
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