The Last Leg

I put the dish in the oven and reduce the temperature by four degrees, then sit watching her mix her special dressing with vinegar wine, olive oil, black pepper and garlic.

When she’s finished, I suggest we move to the comfy seats in the front room. She swings off her stool and follows me.

“So what ‘ave you been up to then? It’s been a while, eh?”

She says she’s been okay, but very busy. Joined a gym, started swimming too and that I should come with her one day, as a guest. My eyes fall on her neatly polished toe-nails.

“It’s good to take care of yourself,” I tell her.

She lies and tells me I look well, and that I must miss Jay.





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This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)