frilly knickers

Posted on January 22, 2015. Filed under: Black & Blue |

Harry was watching, too. When I did it. When Professor ‘Lithium Bob’ Beck suddenly sprang a thoughtful smile at me across the brilliant white linen of the silver service laid table centred squarely in the middle of the prison gymnasium – and I forked aside a couple of honey-roasted carrots and stared down at the Moulin Rouge motif on the vintage china,
“This plate…” I began, then faded.
“You’d rather it was stuck in the cabinet?” Robert murmured.
“It’s distracting…”
“In what way d’you feel… distracted?” he asked.
Listen to him.
Making out he’s interested. At all.
Making out he’s the one who’s asking questions.
Figuring it out.
Fitting it in.
Coming over all psychiatric about it.
I’m the psychiatrist.
His psychiatrist.
“I’d rather not eat my dinner off of La Goulue’s frilly-knickered backside,” I answered. “To get a bite, I literally have to slice away at her buttocks…”

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