The waking sun crept its way across the crumpled bedclothes. On the floor, my suit lay in a guilty heap. Fleeting personal remorse was easily brushed aside – I’d known what I was doing; I knew what I would find – it didn’t stop me.
From the bathroom I could hear her singing: the broken English, the broken voice, the playful pretence of innocence.
‘Morning, lover’ she said, on returning to the bedroom. ‘I see you at bar tonight?’
She looked painfully beautiful. I nodded and smiled.
As she left, she turned and blew a kiss across the room.
On the table, my pager began to buzz.
These words form my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.