I opened it. It was Peter.“Sorry I’m late. Work. Had some asshole fuck up my day. You look good. Bought a bottle. Need a piss. Where’s the party...”He handed me a warm bottle of prosecco and just walked in. “Er, hi Peter” I said. He walked right past me and ran up the stairs towards the toilet. I wasn’t very happy. I’d gone from happy to angry in the space of 20 seconds. This is why I don’t like Peter. Then all the issues he caused on my wedding day came flooding back and I went from angry to. ~~~Later that night...He enters through that latch that is left to his avail to open, hoping once inside he'll repeat this described process of the earlier encounter. He momentarily ponders a vision of delicate alluring draperies clinging to her sumptuous frame. What such fineries might she await him in this night? His heart beats longingly, like some primitive drum. He's prepared well his oratory of persuasive verse, hoping she'll approve, and react in manners that matter most to his own. Mother brushed my longish hair in the morning like she usually did.- You have such wonderful hair. We should style it a little. Now itjust hangs straight down without any shape or hairstyle.I didn't really know what she meant. That day I was continually payingattention to my ring. At school I felt like everyone wanted to watchit and maybe make fool of me. I was scared. All the voices seemed soloud. I kept my left hand in the pocket most of the time. But duringthe day I started to forget. Now,please, do me a favor, and sit up." Oh, all right." I pouted a bit, but I didn't mean to. I was amazed thatI was acting like this. The thought of having my legs up on the wall atDavid's house when he was a kid was unimaginable. His mother would haveraised holy heck about how she didn't have the money to put up newwallpaper. She would have told David that he was going to have to get ajob and pay for the new paper if he thought he was going to act likethat. David just always bowed to her.
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