Nordic by Orient

 

 

“Am I going to put Gillam on the map of the South for you on the weekends?” she said as leaned slightly in geniality of a concession, her breast tone now toting up the uniformity of her earthly glow. He Ripostes “The sort of speed that makes up North by East of the daily commute in a private car, would not allow any such lapses. Mashaan was the yuppie capital of the county, I am certain any Gillam in passing would have taken its note for me” 

 

 

 

She crossed her legs, her skirt shifted upwards, even further, her skin remained, earthly but radiant and glowing silk, but in the white, no one could err reading the flesh, any other than, blood and skin, made-up after a winter of protection in warmth. Her ankle, dangling kept on sending him same seductive memorandum of its contours and playful effrontery invites as had always.

 

 

 

Office work, always remained interesting to him mostly, now inevitable, after his mountain adventures, in a far land, less said, less invited. Her ankle, was steady in one place, as her toe played with an orange flip flop shuddering, the ankle so symmetric, only to be disrupted by Achilles tendon, as it joins the heel, as that steady head of his hummingbird, so loyal a piece of man made technology, looking down on the monotone color of a land from Chinook for last time.

 

 

 

“Mashaan, I am all ready for, but Gillam, do you know you are talking to a local boy still, who has been away, only for three years or so”. General Sharman’s biography, on her coffee table was yet another testimony to her agile, and decisive mind only to be perturbed by the monotony of her otherwise corporeal approbations.

 

 

 

She moves her hand forward, offering a small plastic bottle of fizzy san Pellegrino to him, as she sips a little of her own using the other hand. It has been a very hot early summer day for both of them. He takes the bottle, for concord, but has no idea of wishing to stay longer or returning, or pursuing more sessions with her. For all he knows he does not want to drink the carbonated water either.

 

 

 

 

As he exits, he could not shake out his old habit now impending a reproach, with urge to nicking signs, a memento a souvenir to places visited, itself morphing a comeback, as he latched to and hid under his t-shirt, the dangling sign;

 

 

 

Counsellor Office

Session in Progress

DO NOT DISTURB