He’d been there that previous night until the sun came
up, he seemed a little cross,
you’ll really flirt with anyone won’t you.
He was mostly on his phone.
I dried wine glasses, hung them by their stems.
I was wearing the same denim shorts.
Don’t you own any other clothes?
You know they’re way too tight,
right up your vag, I bet they stink.
And then he said the barrel needed changing
on the ale,
I don’t know how, I said.
He looked pissed off. Christ, you dopey bitch
I’ll show you.
And down we went into the basement of the bar. Damp
yeasty smell, the metal barrels everywhere.
I felt it coming.
I’m sure you know it too, Ava – that spooky feeling, just
before things take a turn.
No cameras in the basement. Just one way out.
I didn’t stand a chance.
…darling, board that train…
I guess he won the bet.
It was that evening, Ava, the surveyor more-than-friend
came in.
A group of men in suits.
They paid in cash. I saw their wads and was impressed.
I know.
They played darts, drank wine, misheard my name
and called me Jane, invited me to play,
– go on, Jane! They shouted.
I threw my three darts badly – it’s better for the tips.
And he, the surveyor in their midst, was quiet,
moody, I knew his face of course. He barely seemed to
notice I was there. Surprise, surprise.
He whistled for the bill.
But when he paid, he slipped his business card to me.
Why don’t you call me, Jane.
You see, how these things happen.
Are your colleagues kind?
