This place — this dimly lit place in a bohemian city district. Its’ bones of old wood are plainly visible; Well kept and cared for wood gives rise to creaky floors. Its walls are bedecked in dusty art, and columns stand guard at the entry way to the living room. One can almost see students and workers as they sit around the big, old table plotting revolution late into the night.
Slowly rising puffs of flavored cigarettes and pipe tobacco flavor the air with a thousand scents of the old and new worlds alike. Jazz seeps under a door and down the hall as the humidity of a warm summer night seeps through the windows. The combination betrays the modest setting and imbues the evening with a perfectly sultry feel.
Beautiful though it was, we’ve just finished busting it up. Since rousting Uncle Joe’s flunkies and cracking the heads thereof is no longer fashionable with Parker Center, the boss got a hot tip and a decent rate for us to stand in for the Red Squad. Done with my civic duty, I copped a flask of Bar&Tender from the commies fridge and hit the bricks. I have it on good authority that smooth bourbon is always a good thing to have on hand or in the body.
I shucked off my jacket and wore out out a bit of shoe leather, strolling down a city street in the warm summer evening in search of a place to sit and collect my thoughts. A handful of blocks and a bit more shoe leather later, I spied a lush green park with a perfectly shaded picnic table. I slid on to one of the table’s seats, fished a notepad and pen from my shirt, and began to pour thoughts of a Dame I’d met out on the paper. Before too long, the sun had disappeared and my notepad was half full.
There, in my scrawling script, appeared the following words:
I know one thing tonight…. It’s that I want you here.
I want to wrap my arms around you as far as I can and cradle you in them.
I want to pull you as close as I can and never let go.
I want to pull you into me and feel the weight of your body against mine.
I want to snake my fingers through your hair and tug gently as we embrace.
I want to put a hand on the nape of your neck and guide you.
I want to put a hand on your throat and gently squeeze.
I want to care for and about you, dote on you, worry over you, and spoil you.
I want to spend a thousand irreplaceable moments together with you.
I want to love you with the full and unrestrained measure of my heart and an intensity that may be best described as wanton, reckless abandon or passionate, benevolent fury.
I want you to love me just as hard too.
Mr Curly's Adventures 