Red Dungarees
"Thank God," she said, "Friday, some music please,"
and placed her bare feet on top of mine
beneath the table. She was somewhat hoarse
from shouting all day long, but a few drinks
soon put that right. I put Abbey Road on,
it sounded great. George Harrison had died
the day before. "I think I may have to
buy some new clothes," I said, "and stop smoking."
They were two things I'd never said before
and her eyebrows went up. I lit a smoke.
"Know any shops that sell red dungarees?"
We sat there drunk and ha-ed and ho-ed and hee-ed.
Page(s) 15
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