A Night in a Year: 26. Market Square

[jacquelineb]

When he returns, he takes her cheeks in both hands, and kisses her, slow and sensuous. It feels foreign after the barrage against her body, and leaves her a bit breathless. It’s the linger taste of his cigarette that brings her back to the reality of the alleyway.

“Don’t know about you, but I’m hungry,” he says.

She takes his hand, and just nods.

They spill out of the alleyway, hand in hand, leaving it and the bar behind them. With shaky legs, they head for the Market Square.

There is so much space compared to the narrow passage they were in before.

The stalls, during the day, would be filled with fruit and vegetable vendors, second hand books, India made clothes, hats and gloves, cheap and loud necklaces, finely wrought silver. Now though, she can stare right under the tented tarpaulin, see to the other side of the square to West Cornwall Pasties.
It is still early. Later in the night it will be filled with people seeking food at one of the two caravans selling hot food, making the most of drunk stomachs needing the kind of oiling nourishment a night of dancing and drinking left people with. Or they’ll be hunting taxis, for most vehicles weren’t allowed in the centre of town.

To their left, the Guildhall stands, casting a benevolent, civic gaze over the square. Beyond that, on the perpendicular line, is Great Saint Mary’s. No light on inside. The stain glass is dull in the early evening light.

“What do you want to eat?” she asks.

He licks his lips. “Chips. Definitely.”

She goes along with that. She too is hungry. Always, after sex, it’s like something inside has been crushed, and needs filling. Right now, food will suffice.

They totter, unsteady, towards the caravan closest to them.

-
Next: 27. Hot Chips

Image found on flickr, by James Bowe, used under the Creative Commons License.

Mirrored from jacquelinebrocker.esquinx.net.