I am a collage of sensations; a montage of myself. He looks out of the window and sighs. It is raining. It has been a winter of rain. Below us, the concrete maze is waiting. I think about the half-demented lab rats forced to run around and wonder if they search for anything beyond the simple sating of their hunger. My lover is King of the Rats. He is dressed in a red military coat, which he brought at Camden market and a pair of black skinny jeans. He has smoothed back his black curls into a slick wave. He dresses with precision. Precision is his thing, in all things. "I wanted to take the bus," he says, "but the rain will ruin our dress." "Oh," I say, looking into the mirror to check out his creation. He closes the wooden shutters against the night. "I guess we'll have to get a cab." "Okay." I free a lose hair, trapped by the glue of the false lashes. He rummages around the flat looking for his wallet, and retrieving the tickets from the mantelpiece.
What do You think about Carrion: A Story Of Passion?
