Flash Bud - Mummy never loved you

Yes, how about. That's how a day turns out. We don't keep the appointment for selection. But she'd grind anyway with manly instinct - eye-raping every auto-bummer outside safina shimmering plaza. Nipples hardening and poking through a fabric that permits. Remember ape boy who said that happened when a girl was turned on; she's never turned off then - and the wind brings it on better than you. Across the road, ratan's boys making a racket, nobody cares - another generation pledging to back the fledgling and moving on so it stays a frozen chick running the hamster wheel. Same trick. Look she's at the corner in turquoise, forlorn, brutal, pimping in turns. There's a washed out policeman with a shabby belly. There's a silly wife waiting in a car - proud of her possession and looking out wanting the watched to consider and wonder at her wealthy life besides: she knows they park the car ram in front of the doorstep just behind the gate and she has to walk sideways to get to the door. Go on: flash at her. Show her up - put your hand in, roll down the window, clasp her ear and tell her she's a whore with a loveless marriage, pinch one tit, and leave. Pee at her rear wheel first. Then walk. A little faster. I make it to commercials of hope and single men with shopping bags. The pity of it. Women. Some couples with children, carefree and unbranded middleclass hit the right look and yes theyre fine -just happy. Looks good. I get run over by a kawasaki crossing the mad mouth of the street and continue without pants but don't care. Walking pantless down once-timeless MK Street, she's swinging her arms; in 2 minutes she's assumed a certain flair for a kind of debonair swing. Many other streeters pick the groove or watch. She ankle twists on an irregular pave slab, dishes into the dry stormdrain and picks herself out in one winning hoist. Now her shirt goes. She walks in a bra, cheds and while still swinging considers if she should continue with the same debonair in the new dynamic. She considers some seduction but it couldn't work on this devilled pave. She mounts a street-butting one-of-many-identical one-storey houses. She positions herself on the balcony, tosses her undie on a passing biker. It lands fit on his head, he isn't wearing a helmet and in 6 minutes develops rabbit ears that grow out to fit nicely through the leg holes of the ched. She flings over her bra, it is trucked over. Still in the wistful act the second after flinging her bra, right arm aspiring, she freezes as masthead of the temple half way down MK road. Last May, you might have seen her there.