...a deathly serenade...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
here? I took note of the time: it was late, 12:23am.
I can only guess what she had been up to, I
thought, along with the idea that I was stepping
on shaky ground here, primarily being in a
foreign country. But the thought of my hands all
over her small petite body took over my mind. I
am governed, I assumed. I felt rather fickle by
now, as she begun to explain that I had done
something nice for her the last time I saw her,
ignoring my question and reminding me of those
pair of jeans, which seemed awfully strange being
that again she was wearing a short skirt and
nothing else from the waist down, besides the
rather childlike bright pink underwear. —Aren’t
you cold? She failed to answer again, just half
smiling and looking around the room. It may
seem appropriate to begin to ask her about this
relationship between her and B, right? Well
perhaps. I decided to forego the inevitable in this
case and disregard the consequences in this
sense. It did seem rather clinical now, maybe less
of an accident that she was sat in the posture she
was, as she starts saying: Money, everybody is
worried for money... Yes, it’s right, but I didn’t
want her to expect anything, especially with the
thought of B looming over my head. I sat on the
edge of the table and she started to explain how
she had forgotten her purse earlier in the day.
There was something visceral in the way she
spoke, I noticed; that she often repeated herself,
stuttering over longer words and so I tried not to
interject in order to let the natural progression of
things ascertain itself. Through the window the
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