"Are we meeting tomorrow?"
"Anywhere you say, I can pick you up?"
"My pups? I have two now..."
"We take them along?"
"Hah, like you mean it...what if..."
"What if what... what if we..."
"You said 'what if'"
"And you assumed..."
"What did I assume? Would the pups mind if I kissed you?"
"That was past tense, you should ask, 'will the pups mind if I kiss you?'"
"Ahem... do I assume you will allow me to kiss you then?"
"I can't drink though, I gotta go to work in the evening."
"You didn't answer my question, do I get to?"
"How about coffee?"
"Coffee meaning what it actually means?"
"Do you have a one-track mind? I meant cappucino or latte or whatever"
"Have a one-track mind?"
"So when is it?"
"I thought you said tomorrow?"
"No, I seriously can't take the pups."
"Okay, when they grow up, or when you get them a nanny. I want to abduct you."
"And take you somewhere far."
Michael calls it forbidden. I call it a dream. He calls it reality and puts on his doc martens, with a smirk on his face. Who gave the bearded philistine the confidence to shape his life with his own hands? Michael still calls it forbidden.
And then they met one day when her children were home. It rained as they drove on aimlessly toward the sea. The radio played Ghost Story by Sting. He thought of touching the tattoo on her thigh peeping out of her sarong and she didn't think about anything. The dogs, perhaps? Or about when he said he will abduct her? His breathing was heavy. A creaky door closed behind them that day that perhaps won't open again, definitely not to let them in, because they had chosen a path together. A path that went straight to the Western sky, where the sun was sinking.