It was snowing and we were walking back from a video rental store; I was talking about the latest post human book I'd finished when she took my hand, transgressively.
We were just friends at this point; my genial warts were mostly under control but she still smoked infinitely and whored.
The sun was long set; streetlights dulled by snow made the street murky.
She had red and black hair and I was shaved bald under my grey skull cap.
I still wore green cargo pants and polished my jump boots obsessively. Mainly, she wore long black, wool coats and toe shoes, when she wasn't in garters and six inch platforms.
Her palm was sweaty, or snow wet --cold against my fingertips as she slid her hand up my sleeve.