00.23 AM. The night is young and it's me grappling with a stack of paperworks on the desk while some junk emails await for removal. "You need spam blocker," she says, seeing my grumpy face, again, before my Macbook. She stands from her chair, heads for the bedroom and leaves me with my weary head. "Yeah, I know," I reply but she seems no longer in conversation mode.
My iTunes plays Suzi Quatro's Cat Size at the bottom of the customized vintage rock playlist. I take a sip of my coffee, feel how the sediment roughly slides down my throat, and turn on the room TV for a little distraction. The hotel clock shows 01.26 AM, I straighten my back and stop scanning the channels for climate update on Discovery.
she's in satin lingerie