He frowns, clearly scanning through the labrynthian corridors of his past, searching for me.
Right now, he’ll be scrolling through his manifesto of ‘former protegees – favours to be called-in”.
I won’t be there, for I owe him nothing.
Frowning, he’ll embark upon the inventory of ‘past lovers – unsophisticated but a lusty lay’.
I might be cross-referenced there, but I doubt it; he’s never got much further than a tentative grope.
“Try ‘promising young writer’” I prompt, “but an implausible plot.”
Recollection dawns in his eyes, and a rising tide of shame flushes his neck as he’s called to the platform.
My photo this week, and I’m sure everyone recognises this for an insect-house… just the right place for my main protagonist. Rochelle leads our merry band of Friday Fictioneers into high summer this morning, thanks once again, oh multi-talented one. 🙂