Most
nights I'm woken by the whirling of the helicopter blades. A powerful light
searches the gardens like a giant torch. Never sure what the Police are looking
for. We've never had any drug dealers or burglars in
Portslade
Old Village.
Our drug dealer is the local doctor who gives out Viagra and Prozac like
sweeties. A nice young man in a dark suit who thinks we geriatrics should be
happy and at it like rabbits. We sell them on to the middle aged; they are the
ones that need happiness in their stale, barren lives. No final salary pensions
for them to look forward to.
Doris, sleeps like the dead, her thigh warm to my
touch, I can't hear her breathing I'm deaf. Sometimes that's a blessing. We've
been together for 5 years. My wife upped and died and
Doris
started helping out and never went home. Not sure what nationality she is and
what language she speaks but she smiles a lot. Sometimes I wonder if the light
is searching for her. Where would they send her? Who would make my meals,
scratch my back and sing me to sleep? I've come full circle like the rotating
blades that fly overhead.
I wrote this last year for the Geo-Writing site. We were given a prompt about an area in Brighton. I have only spent 4 days in Brighton and that was to celebrate last years big birthday. Great city, vibrant and fun. Looking forward to this year's prompts. Wonder what ideas it will give me :)
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