baby daddy

It is undeniable that my baby’s daddy-to-be is mad. Just how mad remains to be seen.

I can tell you what I know.

When I met him he was leaning against a wall, in shadow. He told me I smelled fantastic. He told me that on the way to meet me he had given a man a blow job in a toilet, in a station, in exchange for what he thought was ecstacy. It was Valium. His voice was slow and his eyelashes were fluttering and eyes closing.

At the bar I abandoned him. I had records to play. And he was like a rag doll. A pretty one though. A pretty brown-eyed rag doll in a bad, bad jumper. I drank and danced and he slept on the banquette while people tut-tutted their way around him. I eyeballed my comatose suitor. My best friend hissed 'Get rid of him!'. But I filed him under "later". Drugged up or not, he was too pretty to throw away.