Nothing More

Nightwomen My ex girlfriend gave me the idea. We'd be walking home from the cinema and every time a man was walking behind us she'd clutch my arm real tight. In public this was the closest we got. She clutched hard enough to make sure I'd get the point; the point being that every man that walked the streets at night was a rapist/serial killer/mugger. Regardless whether the guy was returning DVD's or grabbing his takeaway the decision had already been made. When we staggered home drunk, dodging the edge of the curb and walking down the road she never clutched my arm. That voice would tell me right in the open, “That guy is following us, I'm sure he is.” This was always followed with laughter. I once told her that we should've always walked home drunk to stop her from ripping my arm off. Skip to the part when she's now referred to as an ex and I am alone. Skip to that part of your life when you feel you are at your least inhibited self; when you feel life shouldn't have any rules. My god, you have become a rebel. You get a job working night shifts, alternating weeks. You go to work in the dark and come home during dark. And it's winter hours. You always thought that a night shift job would be cool because you'd never had one. Holy f**k did you ever regret that epiphany. Then you're following some lonely woman walking down the street. And there's only you and her on it. If you were that bit closer you could hear her legs clattering all the way up her vagina. This is the time when women wished they did have eyes in the back of their heads, oh, but surely that would give her away. This is you on your way to work. But from the other side of things, twenty paces in front, you are Jack the Ripper. Picture all the noir films you ever saw, they could only wish to achieve tension quite is thick as this. Really I should've been wearing my trench coat and Trilby hat to sustain full effect.