Aged 15, Wazzer – gamesome and stocky - told me of a barley field near his village where he met two kittenish hoydens, drank cider and snogged them both. He’d arranged to meet them again, but now couldn’t:
“Why don’t you go instead?”
And for a moment my blood sang …
And for a moment my blood sang …
© Tim Scott
All rights reserved
All rights reserved
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