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“I will be late you not having my dinner ready,” he muttered sulkily in his dense sullen tones as he entered the room and unzipped his woollen work trousers. “I was going.” “But I’m ill Henry. You know that. Now come on, be a good boy and try to make me better,” she wheezed after coughing violently and stubbing her cigarette in a piled ashtray on the bedside table.She cackled to herself as he stepped out of the trousers, clumsily barging against the bed, which made his big donger swing and slap against his thick hairy thighs. All the time their eyes were fastened on each others sexual organs, with Edith naked and Henry getting naked. She grappled with the twin floppy sacks of her wasted breasts, pulling them up to her wrinkled face and suckled noisily on the flat inverted nipples, knowing that Henry was not late for the night shift, he just liked to be very very early. Edith’s bleary, gin sodden eyes feasted on his erection that had grown within the time he started to undress, as he. Something was missing. Something kept jarring as she went about her life. She came down here to the river for…for what? For solitude? Probably not. There always seemed to be someone here. Walking their dog, ambling along with a loved one, catching Frisbees. For the fresh air? Hardly. She ran alongside the river every morning, and didn’t really need to come down here again each evening. Perhaps it was just the sheer beauty of it. The lazy slide of the water as it eased its way towards the city. The gentle whisper of the trees that hung over the surface, languidly reaching for its coolness with blossomed fingers. The winking of the lights as dusk fell. But it wasn’t that. She had a view of the river from her apartment. It had been the reason that she’d chosen it. She could sit out on her balcony, with a glass of wine, and watch the world slip through the purple gears of sunset, on its way to another velvety night. She came down to the river, she realised, because she felt a.
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