“Fuck Colonel Sanders and his homosexual expeditionary force!” I raged at the night.
She flinched at this sudden outburst, her small figure balled up next to me, sepia-toned from the overhead streetlight.
“You're cold,” I decided. “I'll give you my sweatshirt.”
She brightened at this, perhaps I had finally stopped yelling about Colonel Sanders and was going to pay attention to her. I tugged my sweatshirt off and pulled it down over her, encapsulating her arms, legs and body. Her head popped out, her hair tousled, eyes wide with joy. I took a swig from the bottle in my hand.
“Bastards deserve it for closing at ...4AM? What time is it?” I mused quietly, “Hey, Miss GMT, what the hell time is it?””
She smiled at me harmlessly, trying, I knew, to convey that I had stolen her watch earlier.
“Well, you have all my shit!” I cried in desperation, rubbing my arms from the cold.
She made a conciliatory expression and tried to offer me my own sweatshirt.
“Don't be daft, you'll just freeze then.” I sulked for a moment. “I know!” I cried out suddenly, lunging at her. I shoved my hands into the sweatshirts pockets and began to rummage around. She recoiled initially but soon was giggling nervously. I knocked her over and proceeded to pat her for stuff. She laughed and writhed around any time my hands got near her hips. This would not do, I needed to know if there was anything in her hip pocket. I slapped her hard, somewhere in the vicinity of her bottom. She looked up at me confused, I seized this opportunity to violently pull the sweatshirt away, accidentally pulling away her skirt as well. I looked down at her sensible, white undergarment and was momentarily confused. She was immediately on her feet, blushing as she pressed her skirt back down.
“Drama queen,” I muttered, inspecting my new hoard. I had two mobiles, some lip balm, a condom, two sets of keys and some assorted coinage. I dropped the lip balm and sketchy condom onto the ground.
“Why d'ya have a pack o' condoms?” I demanded in my occasional brogue. “Oh wait...” I pocketed the condoms and glowered at the world, daring it to call me on this. She stood before me, shivering and confused. I remaining seated on the curb and decided to stare intently at her groin. She smiled faintly and looked down. I grimaced. She tried to make eye contact but I dropped my gaze to her shins, which were covered in faint white lines.
“Dju cut yourself shavin'?” I asked in my brogue, “or are ya just a sad laetle thing?”
She didn't seem very happy about this question, preferring to turn away and stare across the street. A patrol car rolled slowly by, glinting brightly in the street lights. I leapt to my feet and pulled up her skirt, she didn't move. I fixed the driver's side window with a big shit eating grin and planted my hand forcefully on her right ass cheek. I waved my arm violently and let fly with a torrid of gibberish that would put any primate to shame. The cops rolled by, unsure of what they had seen. I turned back to her, pleased with myself.
She was blushing deeply, chin tucked in her sweatshirts, eyes at her feet. I noticed she had lowered her arm and was pressing my hand against her bottom. She looked up at me slowly, though red with shame it was clearly still some sort of invitation.
“Eww,” I said, like a mother chastising her child, “poop comes from there.” I hurriedly retracted my hand and turned my back to her. In the distance the patrol car was turning around in the middle of the road.
“And we're off,” I bellowed. I flung the bottle back into the pub and tossed her over my shoulder, her knees resting on my chest. Uncomfortable with her position, I tossed her up a little, allowing me to reposition her. The force of my shoulder driving into her stomach was a little too much. She farted quietly and whimpered.
“Oh what the fuck!” I screamed gleefully. “That was inches from my bloody face!”
The police arrived shortly after but only found some lip balm, a broken pub window and a a faint odour of poo.
(pic unrelated)