A bottle of what I assumed was champagne was left half filled on the table. I grabbed it, jumped up the window and slowly came back to life. A note on the table, took forever to read. Iris had indeed left. It told me more than that though
Funeral a week from now, noon. You know where.
Black, of course. Wear a bra, do not wear anything with lace.
I wont return until then, get your act together.
Decided to walk the shame off and to not get dressed. A black trench, unbottoned but belted halfway covered my naked body. Cold winds and strangers said bonjour to the freckles on my upper ribs. On a bench close to Liberty I sat down, smoked slowly and wiped away some slow moving tears. Hours passed, evening turned into night.
An alley not so far away, she asked the man infront of me if he wanted some company. He looked back at me, lowered his head and shrugged. Like I would judge you Mr, like I would be pure enough to through a stone. When I passed her I noticed her freckles, similar to mine. Her stockings were ripped, but the dress was a Chloè.
I wonder how she ended up there. Selling what I give away to who ever cares enough.
She could have thought the exact same thing about me. How did I end up there?