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Orphans Of The Storm
Date: 3/5/2015, Categories: Taboo, Author: Tinastits2, Rating: 9, Source: LushStories
bank. Sometimes the wail of flamenco voices could be heard coming from scratched records, but mostly I remember the songs of Paul Simon. We'd share a glass or two of San Miguel and she'd have a whiskey chaser. 'Just two fingers Pedro' she'd call, as I poured it for her. 'And don't forget, no ice, I'm not fucking American.' She must have told me that a thousand times in my life. She never liked ice in her drink. We'd sing along enthusiastically to Simon and Garfunkel's greatest hits, until she'd fall into a drunken sleep. She was a hippy, a punk, a rebel and a drunk, often angry, very unreliable, but always happy to see me, and I loved her with all my heart. I wiped away my tears and raised my bottle to the sky. "Cheers mum." I was dragged from my perfect revelry by a gentle knock on the front door. "Hello?" A soft female voice called through the fly screen. I don't want company today. I want to wallow in my grief, and for a second or two I think about not answering, but I know the intruder must have seen my car parked out front. "Hello," I reply, "It's open." I imagine if I just sit there without making any effort, she'd know I wasn't the welcoming kind. I hear the creak of the door and the slap of flip-flops as she walks into the lounge. "Hi, sorry to disturb you. I'm Maria." "Yes, of course you are." I say sarcastically, looking straight ahead without acknowledging her. "What does that mean?" she replies abruptly. I'd got to her, I could tell. Maybe she'd fuck off now and ...