Lust Can Kill A Man Dead Sure As Any Bullet
By Rick Clarke
The waiting room at Central Station was small, with a lot of steel and glass. When the door opened again the pigeons feeding on the platform got spooked and lifted into the air, leaving the mammals below to gaze up in wonder.
The woman who walked in was a brunette turned blonde. Either way she would have looked good. Some guy, who’d been making conversation, carried on like nothing had happened. I made all the right gestures, like I gave a damn about whatever it was he was talking about. All my attention was where she was standing.
After a short while, I turned as discreetly as a guy could in a small room, and took her all in. She wore a tight black number that suited a women with a curves and she looked so good that she would have even got the vicar’s attention if she’d been the church going kind.
From across the room we exchanged friendly smiles, but she made a pretty good show that she couldn’t care less. In the end, I left her to her own company. She had deep accusing eyes and a bright smile. It was a hard thing to look at.
Her fella came in and she sprang to life. He was a sweet kid, clean shaven, with straight hair and glasses. At first glance they were a strange fit. She wasn’t older in years, but standing next to her, he looked too much the boy.
It turned out she liked nice neat boys, over hard-chested apes, and she was the better off for it.
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