Hot Sunday

“I don’t think I could ever really care about anyone I don’t find attractive,” said the man with the blue collar turned up.

“I know what you mean,” said the woman beside him, trying to sound nonchalant.

In three years time she’d regret going on a second date with him. She’d look back and cringe.

Probably.

Towards Regent Street the heat rising from the tarmac had the cast of shimmering water.

They’re walking towards it.

They’ll bathe their feet in it.

They’ll join the foot traffic passing up and down the West End’s great artery.

And he’ll take her shopping.

Window shopping.

Then they’ll get a coffee.

His treat.

After all, she paid last time.

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