In hindsight it may have been a bit premature, running into what I wanted to run from.
But still, it got me to you quicker.
Any excuse to swim.
Before it got dark, and it sure goes black in the winter.
The clientele remind me of months on the dole, waiting in lines and making up lies.
And they smell a traitor.
Still, another few pence in the till saves our church for another day.
And my excuse is a valid one.
We both win.
At least I know what I’m waiting for this time.
And I think I prefer it.
Guess it’s not you anymore.