The Unlife & Death of Baby B

Three hours sleepless but in an ecstacy of touch - careless in extremis. When being exhausted is elation and the heat of skin on skin melts away the worries of silence: remembering the flurry of leaves as rats run in tandem amongst the railings by the car park in the middle of fucking nowhere, and the arched shadows are a dark green that you won't find anywhere else in the city. Maybe the mute challenge of the Taboo Cinema - all awash with a flat black paint and one door open leading to an obliquely lit interior. You see nothing, you sense more. But in passing I see a place I exumed dead earth, weeds and stones, up another weird crooked little road with unecessary double yellow lines...with Jacque. The day/s my legs shook with weakness and menacing baldies stared at us withered under a withered tree, with flower boxes full of dirt. I couldn't even hope to explain. All this and then home again, only slightly put out by the loss of my Tony Krauss platinum blonde wig and yellow tights. Me girly gets full respect for being nice even on pinkies. Same can't be said for everyone. I slept in a full sweat, I stink. I win!