Then she stepped in, wearing her torn skirt and a smile. The soft glow warming as the subtle curves of her body.
'How soon we forget.' She said in her classic sing-song voice. 'What about the adventure you already planned?'
'Body Hunt? Beh, no one pays attention to it.' I paid her a minimum amount of attention, busying myself with the new branch mine just above bedrock.
'Since when have you ever made art for an audience?' And there is was. Not only the useless motto of my starving-artist ways, but the ring of an adventure I was sure I was sick of.
I turned to her and glared as if she had just pulled me out of the womb, or perhaps an opium den in Victorian London. I wanted to return to my warm distraction. My pleasure in a world of stupid politics and stupider sheeple. 'Fine. But afterwards, I'm getting lost again.'