wanky moon

The moon hung heavy over Camden Town. It was a night to lighten with alcohol. Stacy was fawning over me and introducing me to some people made of wool. She told them I was her boyfriend. All I had said to her was I would stay the night (Her mum was away), on the condition that she burned no joss-sticks. Some ridiculously lusty but crusty farmer girl who I wanted immediately to wash at low temperature (although I certainly was not inclined to handle with care) was telling us how we made a lovely couple.

The moon

I knocked the edges off this low-soap world with shots of vodka until even the farmer girl didn't seem too badly in need of a bath. Somehow I wandered off down the canal and she was there too and then we were fucking by the side of the lock. Once wasn't enough for her, and I couldn't smell anything after eight or nine shots, so we went on a fucking tour of the borough's squares and graveyards. If there was a bush and a patch of a grass, we fucked there. Every time we crawled out of the bushes, the full moon was there, now not so heavy but rather like one of her full creamy breasts, reminding me to forget all about Stacy and do it again at the next bush.

I don't know how late it was by the time she leapt onto a night bus. Now alone, I remembered I was staying at Stacy's. When I got to her hippy hovel there was no answer. Her front door has a stained glass panel, of The Great Elephant Giving Birth To The Universe (or something), so I knocked a piece of glass through. It smashed pleasantly on the hall floor. I pushed my hand through the elephant's womb up to the wrist but I still couldn't quite reach the lock. After a few minutes I gave up.

This morning, Stacy called round. She said someone had tried to break into her house before she got back from the pub. She was worried and wished I was there. I told her it's okay I'm here now, and not to bother calling the police because it was obviously just some opportunist.