Plonk

Sara walked through the anonymous Salford street laden with stuffed shopping bags, everything ticked off, the meals for the week ahead sorted and some special coffee to make when she gets back; her treat for a morning’s work well done. She looks tired and haggard, worn down by life’s daily grind. The one brightness the white fluffy clouds printed on her thin faded jeans. She says they make her feel good, like she’s walking in clouds if not up on them. Stephen hates them. But he doesn't matter. She phones him when she’s drunk and wants sex. Her drunken lover without love, his view doesn’t warrant a second thought. She used to feel guilt about these calls but not anymore. A woman has needs and he’s happy to oblige if he’s about. And while he laughs at the cloudy jeans it doesn’t stop him providing the service she wants from him. She checks the top of the Lidl bag for the bottle of white plonk, it wasn't on the list but it’s there. She’d give Stephen a call later.

corkscrew
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