tell me a story

The three of them whisper to each other, loudly. Their conversation drifts through rows of books.

‘I keep dreaming about her’, she says, ‘I think I’m bisexual!.’

‘Shit! Still?’ he replies, ‘I thought that’d stopped?’

‘I know, right? It’s hugely inappropriate, she is with another woman, and they have a child together. But last night I had another sex dream about her. We were fucking in a client’s closet.’

‘Oh dear!’ There are stifled giggles, some soft coughing.

‘I know… I’ve finally come to the point where I am no longer a babbling mess when she talks to me. Thank god I’m no longer blushing, and stuttering awkwardly. Horribly embarrassing!’

One of them, the woman with the green hair, peers around. She sees me, and darts from my view.

‘Let’s go’, she says, no longer whispering. And the three of them leave. Muffled laughter follows.

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