Multitasking

    I am multitasking. 

    I am looking up her skirt.

    I am listening, enthralled by your commentary but still, multitasking. My mind searching, rushing, urging, praying to any passing deity, Will she move, show me, share with me. I’m not a bad man. Just multitasking.

    She’s been away. 

    How do I know? 

    Her thighs are tanned.

    I’m not a bad man. I’m listening, I’m eating, lunching, I’m not staring. I’m watching. All things, many things, not just her. The white Ferrari parked across the street. The pumped up, steroids, and tight t-shirt man and his twig thin wife. The beggar, the pineapple on a waffle bed. How is your fish? See, multitasking. I know everything you have said. Test me. I’ve contributed. I’m not a bad man but I am looking up her skirt.

    They’re white. 

    There’s lace. She’s had a summer holiday, her thighs are tanned. I’m multitasking and she must be aware of me. But I’m not staring, I’m not a bad man.

    I’m making a deliberate effort not to stare, but her skirt. It’s risen. The gods listen, she adjusted in her seat, turned, smiled, not to me. The waffle isn’t befitting the duck. See, I’m appraising the meal, I’m not a bad man, I’m listening, how’s the fish, I’m high on pain killers, there’s too much chilli, and it’s not even. I’m multitasking. It’s meant to be a sunny weekend. I’m not a bad man. I’m wondering, does she know, I’m wondering if its deliberate, I’m wondering if she wants me, I’m not a bad man, just multitasking, high on pain relief, I’m not sleeping at night, she’s crossed her legs, right over left, the skirt now sits even higher, so much outer thigh on show, to me, under her table.

    Is she younger, am I older? She must be. Not much. Definitely. There’s a table of six across to our left, her right. They are loud. They’re not multitasking. I’m not a bad man, I’ll have a coffee, Americano with hot milk, yes hot milk. I’m not a bad man but the nightmares are constant. I’m drowning, drowning, drowning. I’m listening but the painkillers are dulling my conversation, slurring words, the Ferrari is moving, the tramp is not. 

    I’m multitasking, would you have one in white, or red? Really, red? No blue, I’ve always liked them in blue. Yellow? I’m multitasking, never yellow, I don’t have the face for yellow Ferrari, fuck, I don’t have the money for any colour. I’m not a bad man, you say what is the point of having a Ferrari and not shouting about it, I say why not have a Ferrari but say it quietly, whisper I have a Ferrari. That says I’m different, I have class, she uncrosses her legs, I’m not a bad man but, I can clearly see her knickers, lacy and white, she leaves her legs open, I’m multitasking, if not a Ferrari then what? Her legs, there’s a moment or two or three or four, they part, not sluttish, just enough, its still all under the table, only I can see. She leans on her elbows, she relaxes back. She looks directly at me, and smiles, and crosses her legs the other way. Draws her dress down and returns to her conversation.

    We drink our coffee, talk some more, I’m high on painkillers, I cannot sleep, I’m multitasking, I deserve these pains, I deserve to drown, drown, drown. I’m a bad bad man. She finishes her drink and her table all rise and kiss each other, that womanly kiss, on the cheek, some air some actual and they leave, not tottering no, confident, on their expensive heels, clutch bags, confidence, she smiles at me, I’m multitasking. I smile back, I think I do, I don’t. Not really. I’m a thief, I’m a petty criminal, a pilfering simpleton.

    I want to shout, I’m multitasking, high on painkillers, I’m a sad and lonely, desolate, destroyed man. I don’t sleep. I’m a thief who steals a glance, or two, three four, more, and then more, up your skirt. 

    You caught me. You teased me, turned it on me. 

    I couldn’t smile, I have my convicted spotlighted shame, I have my pain. I have my pain killers, I have my multitasking, I have my slurred desolation, I’m a bad man. A bad bad man.