Impious

 

Impious arrow flying from the bow before you could possibly say Jack Robinson. A kind of reflex was involved here, when those sorts of engagements were long in the past, three or four years now. Something like a twitch in a wasted muscle at play. Alighting from the No. 2 this afternoon after it pulled in at the stop opposite the Malabar Mosque. The lady who had come into the wheelchair bay the previous stop was given hardly a look when she approached; much the same on exit. Merely the global swipe that took in the black niqab and the other usual cover. It was improper giving such women even a fleeting glance, much less a sly once-over. All due respect and understanding; nothing of criticism or judgment. Yet, as the horned devil 😈 would have it, in a particular, unexpected development, after somehow discovering / assuming her secret heat, the ardent lamps of the eyes, a corner of the brain took a low electric charge: the flap of the fabric, raised or turned aside, revealed lips (pulled back), teeth & pointed tongue. A stair landing suggested in one of the blocks, as the newspaper commonly reported for such assignations, lady readying herself one step above. Wordlessly managed, all smoothly proceeding, without anything on either side. There was no need for any fuller revelation, not even a loosening of the scarf; more than sufficient personhood remained in the meeting. All was fine & well; siti vuci, cjela goveda, the old Slav shepherds were wont to say. The wolves satisfied, sheep all in number. Back in younger years such inspirations would torment a man the livelong day.