WORKERS' DELIGHT
THis is a short story with no point that I wrote at work....if you want to, you can leave your comments and constructive criticism.
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Padding out in bare feet across the polished floorboards of my flat, I can't sleep. I can never sleep.
The breeze is warm, as it often is in the summer time. The light waft of the warm season floats in through my open window, gently ruffling my T-shirt and boxer shorts. How unladylike.
Walking to the refrigerator my knee comes hard into contact with a side table. I swear loudly. I silence myself quickly, but remember the only person to wake up is my cat.
Opening the fridge, I take a bottle of water. The small, white door of the cool box closes silently and I stand in front of the window with its curtains rippling. I rest my bottle, after taking a frigid sip, on the window sill.
There are bright and dim lights. The bright ones line the street and the dim ones reveal the locked shop fronts.
Most of the shopshave flats above them. Most of the flats have their windows open. Some have music flowing out. It seems odd that even despite the time, people are home.
I can see into the window across the street. A few people drink and dance. It seems like a friendly dinner party.
Most people on my street don't sleep that well. No points for wondering why.
Down on the sidewalk and on the street, the boys are working.
Usually very trim, very clean shaven (in many places, or so I'm told). Despite the warm weather, some still wear baggy cargo pants. Most, though, wear long shorts, singlets and, of course, the baseball cap.
A car pulls up. You don't need to strain to hear what's being said, "Young cock, right here. Easy price."
Everytime you hear that, you cringe.
The man in the car with a fold down roof shakes his head and drives slowly off.
The young prostitute takes his cap off and runs his hand through his wavy hair. "FUCK!" he shouts. Desperate for a fix, these boys will do anything.
I chuckle sadistically at the boy's loss and take a drink from my water bottle.
I close my eyes and let the slight warm breeze flow over my face. It ruffles through my thick, short hair, making it no messier than it already is.
While my eyes are closed, I can hear the young workers. All of their voices meld together and they sound like birds. All chirping at once. All making similar propositions to each man that stops for them.
Some do get picked up, though. Employed to do another man or woman's job.
My eyes open now. The lights, the music, the voices, the people. All make a rich smorgasbord of sin and desire for the creatures awake at 3am.
For a second, I want to leave my boxy flat. I almost want to go out and get a drink, a real one, not water. I almost want to go and be employed by a creature of the night. But I opt to stay in.
I turn on the television. Blue-grey T.V. light envelopes my apartment in an eerie halo.
I know that eventually I will go to sleep at daybreak, as will the boys on the street.
I know that when I wake up, I'll be almost comfortable and I know that they won't be.
I also know that when I get up to leave in the morning, I'll have to nudge one of the boys awake in the stairwell so I can get on with my life.
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Padding out in bare feet across the polished floorboards of my flat, I can't sleep. I can never sleep.
The breeze is warm, as it often is in the summer time. The light waft of the warm season floats in through my open window, gently ruffling my T-shirt and boxer shorts. How unladylike.
Walking to the refrigerator my knee comes hard into contact with a side table. I swear loudly. I silence myself quickly, but remember the only person to wake up is my cat.
Opening the fridge, I take a bottle of water. The small, white door of the cool box closes silently and I stand in front of the window with its curtains rippling. I rest my bottle, after taking a frigid sip, on the window sill.
There are bright and dim lights. The bright ones line the street and the dim ones reveal the locked shop fronts.
Most of the shopshave flats above them. Most of the flats have their windows open. Some have music flowing out. It seems odd that even despite the time, people are home.
I can see into the window across the street. A few people drink and dance. It seems like a friendly dinner party.
Most people on my street don't sleep that well. No points for wondering why.
Down on the sidewalk and on the street, the boys are working.
Usually very trim, very clean shaven (in many places, or so I'm told). Despite the warm weather, some still wear baggy cargo pants. Most, though, wear long shorts, singlets and, of course, the baseball cap.
A car pulls up. You don't need to strain to hear what's being said, "Young cock, right here. Easy price."
Everytime you hear that, you cringe.
The man in the car with a fold down roof shakes his head and drives slowly off.
The young prostitute takes his cap off and runs his hand through his wavy hair. "FUCK!" he shouts. Desperate for a fix, these boys will do anything.
I chuckle sadistically at the boy's loss and take a drink from my water bottle.
I close my eyes and let the slight warm breeze flow over my face. It ruffles through my thick, short hair, making it no messier than it already is.
While my eyes are closed, I can hear the young workers. All of their voices meld together and they sound like birds. All chirping at once. All making similar propositions to each man that stops for them.
Some do get picked up, though. Employed to do another man or woman's job.
My eyes open now. The lights, the music, the voices, the people. All make a rich smorgasbord of sin and desire for the creatures awake at 3am.
For a second, I want to leave my boxy flat. I almost want to go out and get a drink, a real one, not water. I almost want to go and be employed by a creature of the night. But I opt to stay in.
I turn on the television. Blue-grey T.V. light envelopes my apartment in an eerie halo.
I know that eventually I will go to sleep at daybreak, as will the boys on the street.
I know that when I wake up, I'll be almost comfortable and I know that they won't be.
I also know that when I get up to leave in the morning, I'll have to nudge one of the boys awake in the stairwell so I can get on with my life.