Felix smiled blandly, a momentary crease
in his almost tanned, almost plump face.
His extended hand was smooth and soft.
A pause.
Guarded, appraising eyes swept my face.
He sipped his wine as curiosity triumphed over inscrutability.
“What is it then?” he barked: “Morris
Dancing, Mudwrestling or the Masonic Lodge?”
© Tim Scott
All rights reserved
No comments:
Post a Comment