Schrodinger's Bog Part 4: Ron's Hunt

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Ron kicked the door shut behind him exhibiting a healthy respect for the builders of old who had installed it. He demonstrated with this single hearty kick that he had confidence in their joinery. Yes, well neigh a century since this door was hung his vigorous boot to it signified a vote of confidence in the joinery and now well neigh unobtainable hard woods of times gone by.

His emotional roller coster ride had carried him to some strange and deep valleys in his otherwise simple soul but the momentum gained by the decent had upon ascent rocketed him to a tingly high note seldom achieved, at least by Ron, without the aid of strenuous exercise or a few lines of cocaine.

He barged down the street leading each step with a shoulder as his torso sat back on his hips like it was leaning against an invisible wall. It was getting dark, so he had pocketed his sunglasses but Ron nonetheless proved to even the plainest of women in his path that the eyes can indeed commit rape.

Ron’s gaze would strafe from right to left and when something caught his interest he would briefly make eye contact before unashamedly drifting his gaze downward, trying as best he could to asses the contents of his subject’s clothing. If he liked what he saw, his gaze would snap back up to eye level, this time accompanied by a carnivorous leer. Few women met his gaze, but the ones who did more often than not began the next day eating eggs with him.

In this way he made his way through the crowded streets, commuters now displaced by tourists, party goers and the hustlers, vagrants, pimps whores drug pedlars and bouncers who preyed upon them. The former, the folks just out for a good time took him for one of their own, but the later, those who fed upon the revellers; never failed to recognise him for one of them.

Roy’s tinder was waiting for him in a tiny and trendy little café just a few blocks from his flat. It had wi-fi and impressed Ron as the sort of place that makes women let down their guard. Ron had used this spot only twice before, so it was still a safe bet that the barista had not warned her off. Ron had had that problem in the past. His dates usually cute and often adorable, so after witnessing a five or six ladies walk into the wolf’s mouth even the most professional of proprietors would inevitably feel the urge to warn these damsels of the danger awaiting them.

It was a long few blocks. A sea of beautiful women danced before him, he undressed them all with his eyes and soon he was in a sea of naked women. He knew in his bones he would not make it to the café. Too much eye contact. These streets were hot tonight. Ron felt omnipotent.

The café’s signage was just coming into view above the heads of the throng when a young woman he vaguely recognised matched his pace and gently caught his arm.

‘Well hello Aphrodite, where do I know you from?’ Roy ventured as here eyes met his, but as the words left his mouth he realised he knew her only from eyeing her up a moment ago. Her eyes were he would later realise quite unforgettable.

‘You can call me Aphrodite or anything you want stranger, but we ain’t met before. You look like you’re looking to party tonight, You want to party with me baby?’

Roys heart did another little up down up thing: his first impression, that he had pulled, was replaced by the qualified disappointment of realising that he was being propositioned by a prostitute, but then up his mood went again when he realised he had a better mouse for his trap here than in the café.

He thought quickly, he could postpone his tinder an hour, get this girl upstairs, and under the guise of having her clean up, get her into the bathroom and see what comes out. Worst case scenario: there would be a slightly more mixed up girl working these streets, best case scenario he’d slip her a few bills to have here keep her mouth shut about her profession and take some of the edge off Baz with an impromptu blow job.

His tinder date seemed a nice girl from the countryside in her second year of veterinary school. He would love to introduce her to his downmarket version of the Karma Sutra, but he wasn’t so sure he would sleep well if she came out of his bathroom with a beard, or a fatal accident.

‘I think I will call you Aphrodite’ Ron said. He took her arm in his, took his telephone out with the other and began texting his tinder date an excuse for an hour long delay.

By the time he had reached his building he had sent his message and agreed terms with ‘Aphrodite’ for forty-five minutes well spent with his flatmate. By the time they had climbed the stairs and reached his door he had received an acquiescent reply ending with two X’s and an O.

Roy spun on his heel in a cheerful pirouette as he opened the door, Aphrodite following close behind.

‘Alright there Bazzer, you’re not in the bog are you?’