© 2012

Last month I met eighteen people.

I admired seven of them,

I envied two,

I angered four,

I liked three,

I hated one.

And I kissed another.

Part of me knew I was dreaming, and that part told me to pay attention. I’d been waiting for this. Ever since Sergeant Lawlor had given me the photographs a few weeks ago, I’d been expecting one of the women to contact me. And now it was happening.

We walked behind a red car. It was moving slowly, steadily. The windscreen wiper swung back and forth, sweeping away the pelting rain. I looked around, but I hadn’t a clue where we were. I scanned for landmarks, hoping to see something that might help me to identify this place. I couldn’t let any important information slip away. But I could see nothing apart from the narrow road and the thick undergrowth on either side of it.

She walked right beside me – any closer and our shoulders would’ve been touching. I watched her from the corner of my eye. A Polaroid camera hung from her neck, clinking against the buttons of her polka-dot dress. She wore the same outfit as in the photograph, but she looked even prettier now. She had a small face, full lips, beautiful eyes and deep red hair. She wore fishnet tights and stilettos that clip-clopped on the tarmac. I looked down at my own shoes: torn pink Converse that soaked up the rain. My feet were horribly cold. Looking back on it, this dream was much clearer than the ones I’d had last year. Everything was sharper, much more intense.