BETWEEN MY LEGS

‘What are you doing?’ I said to the the young, gorgeous, exquisitely made-up woman rested her head on my left shoulder.
‘You know,’ she said.
‘I’m not interested,’ I said. ‘I can’t be, the position I’m in,’ adding as I walked to the far end of the platform on which we stood waiting for a bus, ‘You’ll have to bring it to the group.’
We’d come down off the hill overlooking the M32, had a feeder housed a bus route.
‘Is that new?’
A motorbike, rider in leathers and open face helmet, went up the feeder.
‘Can it go that way?’
Eventually we arrived in town where we met a man led us through traffic free streets to a wooden building with the promise of shelter and a hot drink. Inside the main room I tried the doors finding them locked I began to panic.
‘You can leave after the performance,’ he said.
Once outside I went to the Department.
The Department is an anarchist. She is also Boss by virtue of decisions made always in the best interests of the Group.
I told her, with the enthusiasm I’d seen others have before me, of three ideas I thought could work.
‘Well, go on then,’ she said, also dismissing me with a wave of her hand. ‘Don’t talk about it, do it.’
Reprimanded, retreating, if I’d had a tail it would’ve been between my legs.