The Tall Boy

A tall boy with the floppy brown hair over his forehead, piecing eyes, angular face, with the winsome smile, standing on the corner of my street, gazed over at me, as I rested my bag on the outdoor pub street tables to find my cigarettes in my satchel. 

"It's a bit early for that, I would have thought." He looked over at me. 

I laughed. I kept walking. 

"Starting early." 

I glanced back at him. Cute, I thought. I smiled, I didn't know what to say.

He crossed Gertrude Street and I continued towards the city. 

His face was familiar, though, it stayed in my head. I know, I know him. I used to have sex with him, Douglas, I thought. He used to live just down my street. We got together one Saturday night, unexpectedly, after vaguely knowing each other for some time. Then it was like for weeks when we were home on our own and had nothing else to do, we'd have sex together.  

I looked back to where he was, but of course, he had gone, disappeared up the side street and out of sight, into the morning sun.

Fancy forgetting someone you have slept with. I've always thought badly of people who do that, and bugger me, as my dad would say, (actually, I used to bugger him) there I was doing it too. First thing in the morning, on home turf, you don't expect it, trade, as the guys like to say, I don't expect it.

I guessed he was, actually, having a conversation with me, and I just blanked him. Oh, Jasus, what must he have thought of me?