OK here's the thing. At about two in the morning the thought struck me. No one kisses any more. Well, that's a bit harsh, everyone kisses. In fact everyone kisses everyone. That's part of the problem. Whether it's the Ladies Who Lunch and their coutured, coiffured air-kissing, bise-trois is de riguer these days, or slebs kissing each other for another pap-snap - Madonna and Britney anyone? - it seems that everyone is at it. A peck on the cheek, a smack on the lips, a tongue thrust here and there. I blame those continentals myself. Over there even the men kiss each other. Oh good grief.
Let me confess. At two in the morning when the thought struck me I was looking at the most luscious pair of lips imaginable. Jolie-esque in their bee-stung magnificence, this mouth belonged to an improbably proportioned young lady who is a member of that elusive club, the Dark Angels of Society. We had actually been talking for some time about matters carnal, sharing tips and comparing no…
Whenever the doors slid open I
could hear the echoes of feet on marble and the rumble of the escalators.
People always came and then stopped. I imagined they looked around, across the
sea of desks, trying to work out where to go. Nowhere was signposted. “Third desk after the redhead” or
some such description, then I heard them wander off into the noise.
noise. There was always the hum. Air-conditioners blew under every desk keeping
the machines cool. Message alerts would ping, bong and tweet as some market
somewhere hit some target. If things got tasty I might hear someone shout “Cable
at 35” and then the immediate response “Nailed it”.
Of course there was the incessant
chatter full of bloated fantasies “….blah blah yacht blah blah…” and foul
intentions “…she would, I know she would….” And when people were close enough
to me I heard their whispers and insecurities, their needs and wants. These
were unpleasant humans.
Not everything was chaotic. At 7am
the Voice of God, or the Chi…