The tap tap tap of sprinklers? No, of rain, interrupted some mindless brain work of smut reading. Oh it was fresh alright. And gone. No, just softer, not as hard, not as thrash and haste-like. Slower, nicer, more lenient to appreciation and time well spent contemplating. Then the car drove by. Nostalgic of old days in the tangle of busy busy streets. What’s the hurry? Where you going? C’mere. Settling easily into background music, a new tapping emerged. Tongue in cheek, foot in mouth, fingers to keyboard, as close to real sex as possible in inconvenient times like these. Oh, she wished she was out. In a tight little dress that turned her on as much as it would to tall, dark, silent, giddy strangers. Dancing. Maybe inside in a club, maybe outside in the rain. But she was, inside her head. Trying to reach emotions and touch only so much better than reality. Reality had been poor to her. She had held back too often, thought too quickly, and was left with too much time for silent rage. Constraint to shelter, familiarity, hope. Sick sick hope, fuelling her art, sucking her life. Preparation for never, education for no one. She pushed back. Tearing out of that warm, easy, lazy aura of rationalization. She grabbed a scarf on her way out and wrapped it around her head like those she’d seen in magazines. Hiding their face from public criticism. But smiling and playing it up and coy; just a little. Because it was fun. Oh, this is going to be fun.