I sat in the last seat of the train, all the way to the back. I was alone. Opened my backpack and grabbed Absence of the hero. Ah, Bukowski. Making my commute to work more entertaining. All those gruesome details and dirty stories. You sleazy old bastard.
We were about 80 people in the cantine. Had breakfast and then sat for two hours straight in a boring presentation of who-the-fuck-cares-what-about. I was tired. Fucking exhausted. Just wanted to lay my head down on my colleague’s shoulder and take a nap. “I should have stayed home,” I thought. Cuddle all morning with this 24 year-old Norwegian I had sex with the night before. But she didn’t spend the night with me. Her big white butt wasn’t there in the morning. Nothing fun to do in bed anymore. Only digging in my memories.
“I have to confess I was a bit worried about my performance” I said.
“Why?” asked N.
“I’m nine years older than you. I don’t know, maybe your expectations were too high” I replied.
She laughed. “It was good. Don’t worry…”
…age is just a number.