Robert leaned over the table to him as the girl’s song ended, and she made for the cash that had been thrown to the stage. ‘We got next week off Nate, the site ain’t ready yet for the next job. You stay by the phone, I’ll call you with an address in a few days,’ he said. ‘Cool.’ Nate was watching the girl stuff the money in a small bag, and head backstage. ‘Just so you know this next job is bigger too. We’ll be picking up another apprentice. You been around longer, so you show him the score, just as long as everything gets handled with the tools and materials, you’ll be able to do some work instead of just luggin shit around.’ Robert winked at him now, and pointed out in the aisle. The girl from the stage was walking to their table. As she got closer Nate got a better look at her and imagined she was about thirty-two, maybe younger. Her dirty blonde hair was worn long, stopping just below her shoulders, and she had put on a blue string top to match the flimsy bottom. With her blue. My brain has shook that particular tin of memories around so much, it doesn't seem to have an order anymore. Just a beginning and an inevitable (and unwelcome) conclusion. The middle is a (sweaty, panting, sticky) mess of nights out with cocktails, a lazy Sunday getting lost in the city, verdant parks, pizza in bed, too many restaurants... All punctuated by your naked body, your incredible and explosive orgasms, and the strength of the bond that connected us. There is one memory that always sits on top of the happy jumble as if carefully placed there so I'll always find it when I want/need it. It's the one I always come back to, whether I'm idly daydreaming or slowly masturbating to thoughts of you. It’s forever etched on to my mind so I never lose it. My jumbled memory puts us on a sunny Sunday, browsing the market a couple of hours after you woke me up with my stiffening cock at the back of your throat. The brightly coloured clothing on the stalls, the smells of different foods.
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