No after
She looked like a barrel rolling on the open sea, half-clothed, full drunk, and buoyantly salty. Could I a barnacle be? No, sweetheart, not me. This was no mermaid calling sweetly. This was a call to the rocks, the rock and roll that hulls and wrecks. No, boy, that wasn't me. A breast half-exposed, a thigh for the open road, she was as washed-up as washed-up could be.
Did she love me? No chance, it was money she was after. And after the way we met, there could be no after. No after because no beginning. She looked like a barrel rolling on the open sea...

© Kenneth Rowley, 2002

A bleary night last night. After working at the newspaper I went to town for a glass of red wine. A few chicks called but there was one, Bonile, that I particularly wanted to see, so I hung fire. Eventually, against my better judgement I went down the valley and to the MTN park. Great fun. From there to Paradiso, a cute trio, and home early early--about three a.m.