Angel at a 25 Degree Angle

Imperious, impervious, Girl on the escalator going up, pulling her case behind her like a lapdog on a lead, going up. Nifty, shifty, eyeing up Girl going up; naughty, haughty, hoity-toity.

Did she condescend to look down upon you as she went up, angel at a 25 degree angle? Did she acknowledge your existence as she plucked celestial chords on her flyaway hair and breathed honeyed tones down her cellular phone? Did she fuck. No: your eyes did not meet. You looked at me looking at you looking at her looking up, all high and mighty, pulling her case behind her behind like a slave on a lead, soaring up — she mighty high, you mighty sore. Looked at me, you did, with your chastised eyes, all hot and bothered, hot, hot under the collar, your face a slapped arse.

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