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(A short story of 2017 words)

White Goods


by Carmen Nina Walton

A rebound relationship fills with complications that are going to hurt.

I met him at the Art Gallery. That gave me the most options. Thing is, if he stood me up in an Art gallery no-one would know. I would look like someone browsing and thinking. I was browsing and thinking right up to the moment he was due.

It was a hot day, over thirty degrees, which is the signal for people to strip or wear gaudy, flesh revealing clothes. I was in Finnish Glass, people watching, casting an eye over scorched flesh, when he approached.


It was disappointment at first sight but I was drifting and didn’t bother to say. We shuffled into Urban Landscapes, his hands, stuffed into his pockets let everyone know this wasn’t really his scene. I peered up close to Canal 1991. Oil on canvass by Jock McFadyen (b.1950) and found it easy to understand. I was at the ‘welcome’ door for once and tried to tell him but he didn’t get it and the buzz went flat. We moved along to the gallery cafe and sat drinking milky coffee from 1950’s retro cups.

We dated a few more times. He liked to take photographs of graffiti on buildings. Sometimes we ate fiery curries in tiny, brightly lit cafes. Not long after he moved in. Like I said, I was drifting. No priorities or pressing matters to ward him off with. Besides, I fancied a bit of company on the journey downstream...

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