Page 10 - Nails
P. 10

"Right," he said to himself. "That'll do."
   He wiped his hands on the tea towel and
surveyed the lounge.
   "Damn." He'd missed an ashtray and he'd just
emptied the bowl of water.
   Kevin wanted the place decent, just in case she
came back. He took it to the kitchen and washed it
with his fingers under warm water.
   In the bedroom he gathered up the clothes,
strewn or draped about and stuffed them into the
wash-basket. Another trip to the launderette was
well overdue. He always left it late. Once he had to
wash all his underwear and the inside of his jeans
had rubbed his balls sore.
   It was getting on.
   The record came off the turntable and a loose
T-shirt was slipped over him. "Move, move, move."
He clicked his fingers, checking the flat. Bedroom
door closed. Windows closed. Money. Keys. Book.
   "Yes, book." He picked up the book from the
table and slapped it into his hand three times.
   "Okay, let's hit it."
   Outside, the hubbub of the day shocked him.
His exuberance vanished and he again felt dull.
Smile y'bastard. You can't see her like this.
   A dog was barking. Some kids were screaming
down at the park. Noisy buggers.
   "Sandra," he had said, wanting her attention,
"will you marry me?"

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