As the ravage beauty now resembling some lady-boy whore staggered down the alley the shot focused on her great ass. The denim jeans had been ripped aw...y at the back showing two rubbing ass cheeks. Across one sexy rear bun was written ‘FUCK’ and across the other the words ‘HERE’; both in big red pen.As Lara stumbled away, drugged, disorientated and dressed for the enjoyment of the perverted the picture faded to black and the words ‘The director of Buenos-Aries’ appeared.The Kiwi grinned then. The idea of an illicit affair, something that I’ve never considered ever in my life, seemed to add a spark and a verve that I’ve been missing in my somewhat well-worn groove of marriage. It didn’t take much to twist my rubber arm. About thirty minutes later, I found myself opening the door to the café. I could see Sam behind the counter serving a customer. She had yet to see me, so I slid into my usual seat at the long bar table that faces the big windows and out on to the street. It wasn’t. The buttons are flung across the room, pale in the morning sunlight. Too mundane to have been handled by a woman made of shadow.I’m losing my mind. Reality is bending under the pressure of my life.I’m not sure how to stop it from breaking.Except to prove it’s real. I avoid Basya until the afternoon class. She wears a scarf, thick and red. Hiding the place where I left a bruise? Or just protecting herself from the cold?I ignore her raised hand. It annoys Basya to be ignored; the hard line of her. Books had lost her, the only world she wanted to escape to was her own previous one. Her art became disturbing and violent, manifesting the pain in her mind. She cleaned when necessary, ate when she remembered to, and slept often. She had become empty.She eventually became unpleasantly aware of what a miserable existence she had accepted, alive but not living. She decided to get out, into fresh air, a world where people talked and did things and had what they considered interesting lives. It.
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