It's raining I say, I noted you answer and exhale smoke not even looking left where the window is

Soundtrack: Sex&Candy – Marcy Playground


'It's raining' I say noticing you answer and exhale smoke but not even looking left where the window is. I watch it and read the neon coloured letters flickering backwards while nodding my head along with the beat playing. This is an ordinary day on the outside, but inside, here, it couldn't be stranger. 'You're such a fraud' I think, trying to make myself feel better as they sing on the stereo: this surely is a dream and the bass-line changes. It might be, I wouldn't know. I forgot about dreams when I turned old enough to have a choice.

You sit there, all bad-boy dolled up with a cigarette constantly glowing between your fingers, you fit the scene and it annoys me, since I don't, even though I'm dolled up too. This run-down shabby excuse for a bar shines around you; it's kind of magical to see if I was the type who cared. I notice you watching me from the corner of your eyes and I pretend like nothing's going on. This is a game, and it's not up to me how you'll play it tonight. I like all sorts of entertainment. You smoke probably without even tasting (just for show); lighting one cigarette after another and I swear you got grace even on a bad day. It's odd how everything turned upside-down-inside-out in a matter of minutes as soon as I met you. You affect me and I don't like that. The bar desk is sticky when I rest my head upon it. It doesn't matter that much though, my make-up is already flawed. I wonder if you noticed that my mascara's blue today instead of black. I decided for a change since we've watched each others for what feels like years.

I could ask what you think, but I'm not really up for talking, and you never were. You asked me out, that was amazing, but now I'm not sure anymore. If we were out there instead of in here it might have been different? Here time stands still and oxygen is unnecessary, it's all about rock and roll, all about the real folk's blues and maybe a little disco on the side.

I know nothing about those three. The first one's dirty, the second one gets me down and the last one makes my troth taste of bile. I'm not the kind of girl that glitters. I'm not really the kind of girl that dates guys like you, but sometimes I live for the thrill. … and sometimes I suppose you do too. Or else we wouldn't be here, would we?

You offer me a cigarette and I decline, a raised eyebrow is all I get in reply and I wonder when the adventure starts? I think I'm ready. I ask to dance and you hold me close, so close. My hips grind against your crotch and you whisper words with heat in my ear. They're mostly nothing but they still manage to turn me on. I never thought you could be soft, but your lips are when they grace my cheek. A slight blush creeps upon me; we're playing too much pretend here, we both know what this is all about, all those long stares from over counters and hints when trading cans of beans. We both work departments stores however unfitting that might be and our paths have crossed from time to time.

You've got rumours about you, rumours about doing sideshows not quite clean, working days just to have an alibi for crazy nights. I wouldn't know anything about that; I do neither crazy nor illegal. Still, here I am now with you, doing both at the same time. I tell you that, and you look me in the eyes telling me that sometimes you affect people that way and you're sorry if I mind. It wasn't your plan to lead me to the dark side, you simply wanted to take me home. I twitch a smile for you, and it keeps on getting weirder but at least the air is back and I'm starting to like this place. The music fits your curls and I wrap my fingers around some of them at the nape of your neck and rest my head against your chest. Breathing out some tension and breathing in some trust. We're both a little lost I think and the dj's nice and changes the music to something a little slower so we won't look out-of-place. We dance a little closer, how we manage I don't know, and I don't care about it. It's getting to my head - the smoke, the alcohol, the fabric of your shirt against my bare arms, and being chosen by you because of course I know how you really are. I'm not stupid even though I'm blond.

Almost everything smells of nicotine in here but it sure tastes like sex and candy.

It's a rather bad one-liner, the words don't fit right, but I tell it to you anyway. You already know I like to play with words, I told you last Thursday when we sorted frozen fish and pre-made TV-dinners together, and I'm sort of curious of how you'll react and you grin (I guessed so much) and ask my collarbone if I like candy? I'm tempted not to answer, but that wouldn't be right, would it? Not when your eyes are like a puppy's, all big, chocolate brown and lined with the thickest darkest lashes I've ever seen on a boy. I somehow suspect that you're sincere right now, and that it's a new one for you. I should cut you off right now and walk away. I'd probably be the first girl ever to do so, the first one to leave you hanging, but it's not okay. It feels like we're standing still in a bubble and the world's crashing around us. I can imagine peoples faces before me when I walk around hand in hand with you later when we've become a couple - the stares, the glares, the smiles and the frowns. It's a dream. How fucked. I didn't do those, I said. It feels like you've finally decided that you're tired of always waking up alone with someone's forgotten black lace on your bedroom floor. I'm sure it's made of wood (your floor) the old kind which put splinters in your feet, the apartment being really small, and the sheets on your bed is surely always un-tucked. Wrinkled cotton, with a slight touch of sweat and that cologne you always wear, how I would like to lay in those. Why else would you have asked me out, all dreams aside?

I could be wrong, I could be making this entire thing up, but it sure feels right when your forehead rests upon mine and you mumble all small-voiced that I'm the prettiest girl you've ever danced with. As the typical girl I have to sarcastically remark that you mustn't have danced with many girls then. You just look at me like I'm dumb and light another cigarette. For a second the flame dances dangerously close to my hair but I refuse to flinch, instead I leave lipstick marks on your jaw and tell you that I'll be right back, I need to powder my nose. I feel your eyes on my back as I walk towards the ladies room, and they feel good there, it's a pleasant burn and I'm glad I chose my highest heels for this night because I know they make my legs look nice, and in this dress even I get a waist.

At the bar a random man tries to pick me up, but I blank him out and continue walking being careful not to look back at you. That'd be giving too much, I'm not a cheap girl you know, I don't fall for nothing and I most definitely won't leave any lace on your floor tonight, at least I don't think so. In the bathroom the artificial light hurts my eyes and makes me look deathly pale. I better my lipstick and retrace some liner across my upper eyelids. It's not perfect, it's not even close, but it's about as good as I can get. A redhead appears from a stall behind me, she's really skinny, but with breasts that must be made of silicon, she looks like something that could be trash with short cut off jeans shorts, suspenders and a tiny, tiny t-shirt but I suspect that underneath she could be gold. She has a certain beauty that can't be worn down and when she looks me over I don't even mind. She offers me the kind of smile only girls can share, 'he's a handsome one' she says with the huskiest voices I've ever heard from a girl. It's so dark it could have been a man's, but it's probably just too many smokes and too much whiskey and besides we're all different. 'You should be careful though', she carries on, 'he's dangerous, but I guess you know that already'?

Her nails are red and the hand she lays on my shoulder is cold against my skin. My dark painted eyes trace lines on the floor. It's made of bricks and years of walking have made it hard to tell where one of them ends and another begin, this bar must have been here forever. A little like myself I realise and I don't know if it's a good thing or not. What should I answer, there isn't much to say? I know, but the dice has been rolled and I fell the first time we met. It's hard not too. She knows too and walks away out, and when the door shuts behind her I regret not asking for her number. I need new friends. I need a change and as if she read my mind she walks back in. She smiles another smile and picks up some blusher from her bag and dusts across my cheeks. It's a pale rose shade, and she's right, it looks good. 'You're beautiful' she offers and I say: 'the same to you darling'.

She writes my number across a pack of gums and promise to give me a call, saying she liked the thought of a new friend too. I wished her luck for the night and felt a twang of pain; at least I don't have to walk the street for living. I go back out too and see you hanging by the bar, I take you in and I like what I see even more than before. It is like she said. You are handsome.

You see me right away, and as with the girl from the ladies room I don't mind you practically undressing me with your eyes as I walk the short way up to you. It makes is somewhat funny, like if I am in control over the situation. You want me and I can tease you, make you long for something. Sex. It's probably late now but talking about going home makes me feel uncomfortable. I'm not sure what I want to do about that yet.

A chaste kiss on the lips is what I get when I reach you. It tingles of something sweet, could be candy, but it's to brief for me to be really sure. I hook two fingers inside your belt and ask: 'what'll happen now'? Nonchalantly, because you've been around before, you ask me right back: 'what do you want to happen'? I can't help myself; it's all so stupid, so I laugh a little there in your arms. I don't know why I'm playing hard to get, I'll end up hurt whichever I choose.

We kiss for real this time, and there's no doubt from my side anymore, you taste like strawberry sweets and Marlboro Lights and the fact that I have to tiptoe even in heels throws all doubts aside. It might not hold forever, who knows if it'll last the night, but to counter you right back; you're the prettiest boy I've ever danced with too, and I'd be damned if you're not going to be the prettiest boy I've ever slept with.