Double Date #2

    When you tell him to stop touching you he doesn't. He twists an earring in it's hole, a tiny blue lightening bolt made of perspex. Thomas cut it for you the last day he worked in the school and had access to this kind of machinery. You slap his hand away as sober creeps here at the softened edges of things. Sober hurts and aches places you weren't sure existed. Like this bus itches; is somehow both too hot and too cold.

    He wants to fight, links fingers, stretches them above his head and checks the mirrored effect in the window, darkening now. This bus fills, moves only slightly.
    "Is he hot?" he watches his lips' double in the window. You look too until your eyes meet there, blurred and outside. You shrug trying to scratch between shoulder blades. It isn't the right place.
    "I - dunno - I hadn't thought about it"
    "Why not?"
You shrug again, without the scratch.
    "I mean - for fucks sake" half stands, leans over you.
    "Stop speaking" you say, very quiet and he laughs, lifts the edge of his shirt, looks at his stomach.

    You close your eyes and dream, the flimsy outlines of the bus concertina fold beneath the pressure of the truck that ploughs into it's side. We all die horribly, it's for the best really.